Balancing Act
by Daughter of Nature
Summary: A story told through ficlets about Clary Goodwin, starting from her childhood and including her husband Tom. Nothing I've written contradicts anything in Terrier or Bloodhound, but there's not too much info on her so I've taken a bit of creative license.
1. First Meeting

Tomlan Goodwin was usually fairly good at restraining his curiosity, but it wasn't every day that he saw a little girl having half of a lengthy conversation with nobody. "Who're you talking to?" he asked, walking off the path to where she sat beside the small stream.

She jumped to her feet immediately, put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "If Rosalind sent you, then you can just get lost, you slubbering scut."

He stopped again and stared at her. She was a well-dressed little girl; her blue dress was carefully made and almost clean, and her dark hair was neatly braided. She obviously came from a good family, but perhaps she was a little bit cracked in the head. She marched right up to him, still glaring, and kicked him on the shin. Hard. "Leave me alone, you sarden looby," she snapped.

"What was that for?" he protested. "Who's Rosalind?"

Her eyes widened. Looking at them now, he suspected that she'd been crying. "You don't know Rosalind?" she asked in a much smaller voice.

"No," he said, as he rubbed his shin.

She chewed on her nail. "Pox," she muttered.

"You're a vicious little thing, aren't you?" he remarked cheerfully.

"How was I supposed to know?" she snapped. "You're both about the same age." She glared at him again before adding "And I'm not little."

He couldn't help but grin at that. She couldn't have been any more than eight years old to his twelve, so she was definitely the littler of the two of them. She stalked back towards her spot by stream. "I don't care if you know her or not, you can leave me alone all the same."

He blinked, and then followed her. "You've made me even more curious now," he told her as he settled down beside her – making sure he was just out of her reach. "It's only fair that I at least find out who this Rosalind is. I'm going to have a bruise on my leg for at least a week."

He saw the side of her mouth move just a tiny bit, a fraction of a smile. "She's my sister."

Ah. Sisters. He knew all about _those. _

"Are you hiding from her? You're relatively easy to spot, you know. And hear, if you keep on talking to yourself."

"I wasn't talking to myself, and I wasn't hiding. She knows where she can find me, but she's too much of a gormless craven to be nasty without using her magic."

He wasn't surprised, not if she went around kicking people like that all the time. "She's Gifted?"

"Only a little. Not enough to be properly trained or become a mage or anything."

"Oh, so she's drained herself? That's why she can't use her magic?"

The girl shrugged. "She still had some left when I last saw her. She just can't magic me here because the sprites won't let her."

Tom blinked. "The sprites won't let her," he repeated. He could see her watching him from the corner of her eyes.

"They don't like magic from humans," she said. "Rosalind's magic isn't anywhere near powerful enough to spell me around them." One corner of her mouth curled upwards again, and she had a wicked glint in her eye. "She's jealous enough as it is. Her not being able to get me here makes her downright _furious._"

"Sprites," he repeated. He blinked at her again. Just when he was starting to think she wasn't cracked, she starts talking about creatures from tales. "Where?"

"Right there," she said, and pointed at the stream.

"In the water?"

"Well, of course," she said. "They're water sprites."

He peered into the stream, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

"You're pulling my leg," he said with a grin.

"No," she insisted. "You won't be able to see them unless you have the right sort of magic."

"You have magic too then?"

"It's not the Gift. It's different. It's water sprite magic, and it lets me see and talk to them."

"You said 'water sprite'. Are there other types of sprites too then?"

She gave him a long look. "You actually believe me, don't you?"

He shrugged. "There's no reason not to. Some people have all sorts of unusual magics."

"That's exactly what I say," she said. "Only, most people still think I'm cracknobbed or laugh at me anyway. Father says he's found it's easiest to just keep it quiet." She gave him an accusatory look. "But you insisted."

He gave her a broad smile. "So I did." He watched the stream, although he didn't strain his eyes to look for any sprites. "Your Father has the magic too?"

He could see her nod from the side of his eye. "And his grandmother before him. He says that he knows there are tree sprites, and that there might be other sprites too. He says that the sprites never show themselves to humans because they are immortals and all the immortals are supposed to be in the Divine Realms. He said that mages put a barrier up two hundred odd years ago, and that before that, the sprites would show themselves to anyone. Now, they stay hidden, and only those of us with the magic to talk to them can see them."

"Can you see them now?" he asked. He pulled out a small paper bag from his pocket. "Peppermint?"

She smiled and took one. "Thank you." She pointed down into the water. "One. They don't like to live too crowded together. She's right there."

"Does she have a name?"

"Yes. I can't tell you though. I know it inside my head, but it's impossible to actually say. It's the same with all the water sprites." The girl threw the peppermint into the water.

"Don't you like them? Peppermints, I mean."

"She wanted to know what it was."

He offered her the bag again, and she looked at it and then paused. After a moment, she took another. "She says you haven't poisoned them," she informed him, and put it in her mouth. "She can tell," she added, talking around the sweet. "She says that poison stains the essence of the food, and she can tell."

"_Stains!_" he exclaimed, and scrambled to his feet. "I completely forgot!" Seeing her stare, he explained "My father's a carpenter and I run messages for him and help out. He sent me to tell Master Wright, he's another carpenter, that Mistress Turner decided she didn't want her new table stained. I just hope I'm not too late." He grinned at her again. "I lost track of time, talking to you."

She bristled. "It's not _my _fault." She stood up and brushed her dress off. "I can take you straight to him though. He's my father."

"Master Wright is?"

"That's what I said."

"I know who you are now. You're too old and too female to be Berkeley. And you're obviously not Rosalind, so you must be Clara."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't remember. I think one of my sisters is friends with yours."

She scowled and walked off.

"I didn't say I knew her." She kept on walking. "Hey, Clara," he called. "Where are you going?"

She stopped and turned around again. "Hurry up, I'm showing you a short cut from here."

_Bossy_, he thought as he ran to catch up. _Even worse than my sisters at that age._

She gave him a poke as he fell into step beside her. "You're not to call me Clara," she told him. "Only my mother does that, and Rosalind, depending on her mood."

"I'm Tom Goodwin, short for Tomlan. Call me either one, I don't mind. Am I supposed to be formal and call you Miss Wright?"

She snorted. "No, that's even worse. You can call me Clary."


	2. Cats

Clary's ten in this one, and Tom's fourteen.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

"Morning, Clary," he called cheerfully. She gave him a rare smile as she came down her garden path. Ever since that day by the stream, he'd always been friendly and greeted her when their paths crossed, and he was now one of the small group of people who the girl actually liked.

"What's that?" he asked, looking at the covered basket she carried. "Food for your friends?"

She stared at him. "How did you find out about the cats? I always made sure no-one followed me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Cats? I meant the water sprites."

"Pox," she said, and scowled at him. "You better not tell anyone." She walked around him and began heading off down the street.

It took only a few moments for his longer legs to catch up to hers. "What cats?" he asked. "Will you show me? I just have to deliver this note to Master Woodward first, but his workshop is in this direction anyway."

"So long as you promise not to tell anyone."

He was used to girls' promises from his sisters. "Pinky promise," he told her, and held out his little finger. Half of her mouth curled up in one of her funny little smiles, and she looped her own little finger around his.

"Good," she said, satisfied, and released him. "It's actually a mother cat and her kittens." A scowl darkened her face again. "Mother said they were flea-ridden and wouldn't let me keep them."

"Where'd you get the food from?"

"The kitchen, when Mother and Cook weren't looking."

"You stole it?"

"Some of it was meant for me in the first place, so it wasn't really stealing. More like redissss - redistributing." Her eyes were wide and convincing, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her. "What?" she snapped, her tone becoming more defensive. "They need it more than we do, and it's all Mother's fault that they're not at our house anyway."

"Of course," he told her as they turned into the workshop. "You ought to rewrite Tortall's laws on _redistributing_."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Maybe I will."

………………………………

Clary had been keeping the cats in the garden of an old abandoned house nearby. Tom could hear meowing before he'd even finished climbing the fence. Clary was already kneeling down in the dirt, patting the mother cat as she rubbed against her and purred. "Look Tom," she exclaimed. "Look how happy she is to see me!"

His smile broadened as four round little balls of fuzz came over to them through the overgrown grass. He guessed them to be about eight weeks old. "Is this all of them?" he asked.

Her face darkened as she looked over. "Yes. There was one more, but I found it dead last week."

He saw her chin tremble, and she was biting her lower lip hard to keep from crying. "I'm sorry, Clary," he told her. Looking around, he could see a small patch of freshly dug dirt on the other side of the garden. A piece of wood was stuck into the ground to mark it, with the word 'Kitten' scratched into it. He supposed she'd 'redistributed' that scrap of wood from her father's workshop. The sight of it was enough to tug at his heartstrings, and he made a quick decision. With winter coming on, they'd all freeze if they were left with no real home to go to. He couldn't bear the thought of another five graves beside this one, and he knew little Clary would be heartbroken if they all died.

"Clary, I know you think of them as _your _cats, but what do you think about me taking them home? They'd be fed more often, and they'd be in the warmth and safe. You could come and visit them whenever you want."

Her face lit up, and she jumped to her feet. "Tom, would you? Do you really mean it?"

"Of course," he replied. "It seems to me that they could do with a proper home, poor things." The next thing he knew, two small arms were thrown around his middle.

"Thank you, Tom!" She let go of him as quickly as she'd hugged him, taking a step back and looking embarrassed.

He laughed and ruffled her hair. "No worries. Let's see if we can get the kittens into your basket."

She glared at him again and made a show of neatening her hair while he laid out the food from the basket onto the ground. The cats were obviously all hungry, judging by the speed that the food disappeared at. In no time at all, Tom was lifting the small kittens into the basket, with Clary hovering to make sure that they were comfortable. The mother cat didn't like this handling of her kittens, and lashed out at Tom, leaving three parallel scratches down the back of his hand. Before Tom could even react, Clary had snatched the cat up.

She gave it a small shake, ignoring the claws that were now scratching at her. "What do you think you're doing, you looby?"she snapped at it. "Don't be so sarden ungrateful when we're trying to help you!" The cat's only answer was to hiss and scratch her again. Undeterred, the little girl hissed right back, and the cat quieted.

Tom laughed, the kittens all safely tucked into the basket over his arm. "You should be a Dog when you grow up," he told her. "If only because you seem to have a talent for terrifying cats."

She glared at him. "It's not _my _fault she was being such a looby."

"Of course not," he cheerfully replied. He grinned to himself as privately, he thought she'd be pretty good at terrifying Rats too.


	3. Stuffed

"Da." Clary had edged her way into her father's workshop.

Alfie Wright put down his tools and turned around. "Hello, Clary. It's not lunchtime already, is it?"

She shook her head. "No, Da."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "What're you after, then?"

"I'm not after anything, Da. I was just wondering if you needed me to deliver any messages for you…like maybe to Master Goodwin."

"Why, Clary," her father replied with a grin. "How unusually helpful of you." She looked up at him hopefully, waiting, and he chuckled. "If you want to see the cats, then just go."

Her fingers fiddled with her skirt. "If I can tell Mother that you sent me with a message, she won't tell me off for wasting time with the 'horrid, flea-ridden things'," she explained.

He burst out laughing, while she continued watching him silently. "That's my Clary," he said when he could talk again. "Alright, you can pass on my greetings to Jed, and tell him to be sure to send you home the moment you become a bother."

"Thank you Da, I will." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and trotted off out the door.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Jed Goodwin chuckled as he saw the small figure coming up the path to his workshop. In the two weeks since his Tomlan had brought those cats home, Clary Wright had been hovering around them as often as she could. When she wasn't fussing over the cats, he'd seen her following Tom around with such adoration that it was almost as though his son had brought home six pets instead of five.

"Hello Master Goodwin," she said, her eyes wide and earnest. "Father told me to say hello to you from him, and to send me home if I get bothersome."

"You're never bothersome," said a voice from the back of the workshop. Tom's younger sister, Leena, was with the cats in the hay. "Besides," she added, "it's nice having someone younger than me around for once."

Jed chuckled and told Clary "Tom's out at the moment. I sent him to deliver a mirror frame a couple of hours ago, so I'm expecting him back any moment."

Clary nodded and went to greet the cats as Master Goodwin went back to his work. The kittens had grown much bigger since the Goodwins had taken them in. They were growing quite a bit anyway, but both Tom and Leena had inherited their mother's kindness, and the cats were being well fed. The kittens now had the strength to explore their surroundings more, and Tom had already had to rescue one particularly adventurous kitten from the same tree three times.

"Hello Da," came Tom's voice from outside. "Master Wright said Clary was here."

"She is," he replied, as Clary disentangled herself from the cats and stood up. Tom quickly hid something behind his back as he came into view.

"What're you doing?" she asked curiously.

He grinned at her. "Hold out your hands, and shut your eyes."

She looked at him like he was an absolute looby. "Why?"

"I've got a surprise for you. I just stopped in at your place to give it to you, and your da told me you were here." He walked right up to her. "Go on, hold out your hands." He waited until she had, and then added "Now close your eyes." He bent down to look more closely at her eyes. "No peeking," he told her, and she giggled and closed her eyes properly. She felt something soft and fluffy being put into her hands, and then Tom said "Open."

She opened her eyes to find she was holding a stuffed toy cat, about the same size as a real cat. It was grey with a white chest and white paws, and it was so carefully sewn that it looked almost lifelike. She stroked it gently, amazed at how soft its fur felt.

"I know you're getting too old to be playing with toys like that," Tom told her. "But I couldn't resist. I figure it's nice enough to be a decoration-cat rather than just a toy. Besides, I figure it makes up for us having your cats here."

"Tom," she said reluctantly. "I can't accept this. It's too expensive."

Leena had come over to have a look. "You can't give it back, it's bad luck."

"Leena's right." Tom grinned down at her. "You have to keep it now. Anyway, if I hadn't bought that, I'd have just spent the money on sweets. Ma says I'll rot my teeth if I don't stop eating them, so you're doing me a favour. And that cat will last longer than the sweets."

Clary smiled and stroked the cat's soft fur again. "Thank you Tom. He's beautiful."

Tom's eyebrows raised. "Who says it's a he?"

She gave him a crooked grin in reply. "I do."

Master Goodwin had overheard them and gave a hearty laugh. "It's a tom cat."

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Clary examined the cat again before she went to bed that night. She'd sat it on the dresser, directly across from her bed. Rosalind had laughed at her when she brought it home, saying only babies played with stuffed toys, but Clary loved the cat. She reached up and stroked his soft fur again, and then checked to make sure her door was still shut before stretching up on her tiptoes and giving him a quick kiss on his nose. "Goodnight Tomcat," she whispered, and jumped into bed and blew out the candle.


	4. Password

"Come on Klee, hurry up. Ma said she wanted us back by lunchtime." Clary was hurrying along the street, her hand clutching at the purse hidden under her shawl. After a stern warning about being careful with the money, her mother had given her the purse and sent her with Berkeley to take his boots to be reshod.

He hurried to catch up to her, swinging his boots from their laces. "Clary, you're starting to sound like Ma now. But it's still so much more fun coming with you." He gave her a wide smile, his brown eyes sparkling. He had the same eyes and dark brown hair as Clary and their father, and had also inherited his father's playful personality.

"I'm beginning to see how Mother got like that," she grumbled. She noticed that he'd fallen behind again. "Keep up with me," she snapped at him.

"But Clary, it's the Hewlett brothers."

She looked into the distance, and saw two figures loitering on the street. "So? Come on."

"Clary…maybe we should go another way. They're not very nice."

"This is the fastest way. Hurry up."

The two figures moved into the centre of the footpath as they approached, blocking their way. Up close, Clary could see that they were both a little bit older than her, perhaps about twelve and thirteen. They were obviously brothers, they had the same dirty blonde hair and wide jaw.

"What are you doing? Get out of our way," she snapped, glaring up at them.

The smaller of the two laughed. "We're not going anywhere. You have to tell us the password."

"I don't care about your sarden password. We're busy."

The older one smirked. "Is this your sister, Berkeley? Is she a craven crybaby too?"

"Like I said, we're busy," she told them. "I'll set you straight another time. Come on, Klee." She moved to go around the brothers, but they moved to block her.

"_Klee?"_ asked the older one as his brother laughed. "Are you too much of a baby to be able to say his name properly? I'd have thought a ten year old could manage to say 'Berkeley'."

She glared at him again. "I'm eleven, and we call him that for short," she snapped. "You're both obviously such a pair of bugnobs that you can't manage to remember more than one name for a person."

She went to walk around them again, and the older brother grabbed onto her arm. "You can't leave yet," he said. "Our dear friend _Klee_ has something to give us, don't you?"

Klee took a step backwards, but it wasn't enough to stop the younger brother from snatching his boots from his hands. "Give them back," he protested, but the brothers were already examining them.

"Too worn," announced the older brother, and the younger one dropped them on the ground. Berkeley scrambled to pick them up and back away out of reach in case they changed their minds. "The only reason you'd be walking along with a pair of boots like that was if you were going to get them fixed," continued the older boy. "Which means that one of you has money. Hand it over."

Berkeley's eyes widened and he looked at Clary in alarm. The older brother noticed this and tightened his grip on Clary's arm. "Hand it over," he ordered again. She just glared at him, and he grabbed at her shawl with his other hand.

She kicked him hard on the shin, and he let go of her in surprise. His brother tried to grab her, but she stomped on his toes with as much force as she could manage. A sharp tug on her horsetail from behind made her eyes water and let her know that the older brother had recovered from her kick. He pulled again, hard enough to make her turn towards him. She could see that the other brother had grabbed Berkeley by the collar and was almost lifting him off the ground. He wouldn't be able to cause her any trouble while he still had Berkeley, but she wanted to get to him before he could hurt her brother. The older brother wrapped his arm around her collarbone, holding her in place. "Where's the money?" he demanded. She kicked at him again, but he was prepared for this and held onto her tightly despite the pain. Deciding for a different tactic, she grabbed onto the arm that held her and dug her nails in. His grip on her loosened a little, and she sank her teeth into his arm, tasting his blood in her mouth. He gave a yelp and let her go, and she spat at him to rid the metallic taste from her mouth.

"What's going on out here?" A woman stood in the doorway of the nearest house, a broom in her hand. "You boys can shut your sarden gobs if you're not going to be of use. You'd better have finished your chores."

This was obviously the boys' mother. Clary saw an opportunity to win the fight and get away from the boys. She knew she'd wasted enough time already, and she wasn't entirely sure whether or not she could beat them both in a fight. It was time for some acting. She clasped her hands in front of her, deliberately digging her nails into her own wrist hard enough to make her eyes water, and then walked towards the woman. "Excuse me, Mistress," she said, making sure that her eyes were wide and tearful. "Could you please help us? We're just trying to do errands for our mama and these boys are being nasty to us." She sniffed and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, deliberately letting the woman see the bloody nail marks from her own hand.

"Boys, what's the meaning of this?" the woman demanded.

"They started it," muttered the younger brother.

Clary touched her lip, checking to see if there was still any of the boy's blood, and gave a little gasp. "I think my lip's bleeding," she said, and let her chin tremble.

The woman gave the older brother a solid clout on the back of his head with the broom handle. "Shame on you both, attacking a little girl."

"They attacked my brother too," added Clary helpfully. The younger brother took a step away from Berkeley, but still earned a blow from his mother's broom.

"Why were you bothering them?" she demanded. The brothers were silent, glaring at Clary.

"They said we had to give them our mama's money," Clary said, and gave another pitiful sniff.

"_Stealing?_" the woman asked incredulously. "Turn your pockets out." The boys gave the Wrights a look of absolute loathing, and obeyed their mother. The older boy had two copper nobles in his, and his mother immediately gave him another blow with the broom.

"It's not theirs," he protested.

"A liar as well as a thief? Give them their money back," she ordered. "The shame of it, my own sons stealing!" She punctuated this with another swing of the broom.

The older boy reluctantly walked over to Clary and gave her the money. "I'll get you for this, you sarden little trollop," he hissed.

She smirked at him and snatched the money. "You better not let your mother hear you talk like that. You can go and swive yourself for all I care."

"Inside," the mother ordered. "No lunch and no dinner, and you can stay in your bedroom until morning. You're in for a hiding when your father gets home." The boys headed into the house, turning to glare at Clary over their shoulders. "You two run along home now," the woman told Clary and Berkeley. "You let me know if you see my boys causing trouble again."

"Yes Mistress," said Clary, making her eyes wide. "Thank you very much for saving us." She grabbed onto Berkeley's hand, and they trotted off down the road until they were out of sight of the house.

She gave him a crooked grin and handed him one of the two copper nobles. "This was much better than going somewhere with Ma."

"Don't you feel bad about taking their money?" asked her brother.

"You must be cracknobbed if you think it was theirs in the first place. Like as not, they stole it from someone else smaller than them. Anyway, it's their own fault and they deserve it."

"Don't you think they'll be angry?"

She shrugged. "That's their problem, isn't it? We'll just take a different way to go for a while."

They walked on in silence for a little way, and then Berkeley asked "Clary?"

"What?"

"I'm never going to get on your bad side."

She threw back her head and laughed, which puzzled Berkeley. He certainly couldn't see anything funny about it. Maybe she didn't realise just how scary she could be.


	5. Climb

"Don't you dare peek." Clary gave Tom a solid poke for emphasis.

"I won't, I wasn't going to." He grinned at her. "I thought you were putting them on under your dress anyway."

She gave a small huff. "It's not as easy as it looks. I only practiced putting them on once, to check they fitted closely enough. Klee's been growing lots lately, so they do fit." She poked him again. "I bet you've never tried putting breeches on under a dress."

Tom laughed. "You're right, I haven't." He turned his back on her. "I'll stand guard for you then." He looked around the clearing, the same one at the end of the street with the stream where they had met three years before. Not many people used it, other than to cut between Eversoul Road and Sawdust Lane.

"I'm finished," she said a couple of minutes later. He turned back around to see her pulling her boots back on. She gave him one of her funny little smiles. "I'm surprised they still fit, after the amount of food that your mother put in the picnic basket."

He shrugged. "She says I'm growing so quickly that I need lots of food. My sisters have taken to calling my stomach 'the never-ending depths'."

The side of Clary's mouth turned up in a half smile. "I hope I don't eat _that _much when I'm fifteen, I'd never get up this tree."

"That's the one you want to climb?"

She nodded. "It's the highest one and I'm going to climb right to the top…well, as high as I can, anyway. Are you going to come too?"

Tom shook his head and smiled. "You said it yourself, I'm too big to be able to get up there. You're small and light, you'll be fine so long as you remember to always keep a good grip." She nodded seriously and he added "Do you want me to give you a lift up to get started?"

She shook her head, looking at the tree with determination. "I can do it myself." Eyeing the lowest branch, she jumped and caught it with her hands, but then slipped off before she could get onto it.

"Here," said Tom. "I'll lift you up."

She glared at him. "I just told you, I can do it myself," she snapped.

Tom shrugged, and she jumped again. She caught onto the branch again, and this time was able to swing herself up and onto it. From there she could reach the second branch with no trouble, and she was soon sitting on top of the third one up."See? The first one's always the hardest, and then the higher you go, the closer together they get." She pulled her long hair out of its horsetail, letting it fly out behind her in the breeze. "It's so nice up here, Tom. I could stay here for hours."

He laughed. "Your mama would skin me if she found out."

"You'd just have to climb up here too then."

She continued to climb higher, and Tom wandered down to the stream. Sitting by the bank, he greeted the water sprite again. He wasn't sure if the sprite was still there, and he felt a little silly talking to something he couldn't see or hear, but it seemed rude to not say anything. He was enjoying the sun when he heard Clary's voice drifting down to him.

"Hey, Tom! I can see the top of your house from here!"

He looked up and saw her, a small figure about halfway up the tree. "Can you see yours too?"

"No," she answered. "There's another tree in the way still. I can see the Olorun though, and the hill with the palace, way off in the distance. I'm going to go even higher so I can see my house."

"Be careful, make sure you're hanging on tightly to the branches," he called.

"What do you think I am, a looby?" came the reply.

He grinned to himself. Typical Clary. He was just beginning to relax in the sun again when he heard the loud crack, followed by a series of smaller ones. No more than a few moments could have passed as she fell, but they seemed to stretch out forever as he scrambled to his feet. He turned just in time to hear the sickening thud, and he could see the small figure lying at the base of the tree.

"Clary? _Clary!_" He ran towards her as quickly as he could, nearly tripping over his own feet in his panic to get to her. As he got near, he saw her move. "Gods be thanked, you're alive!" he said in relief as he knelt down. "It's lucky you hit other branches on the way down, they must've slowed you." She blinked at him a few times and then pulled herself up until she was sitting.

"I swear I didn't let go of the branch, Tom. It broke."

"I know, I heard," he replied. He pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to the cut on her face. "Don't worry about that now. Gods, Clary, are you alright?"

To her surprise as well as his, she took a breath to talk and then burst into tears. She quickly drew up one of her knees and buried her face in her arms. "Leave me alone," she snapped, and shoved him away when he tried to comfort her. His bloodied handkerchief was thrown in his direction as an afterthought.

He ignored her and put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't be embarrassed, you're just in shock," he told her. He rubbed her back gently as her sobs gradually quieted.

"Tom," she said finally, her voice barely more than a whisper and muffled by her arms. "My ankle hurts."

He leaned forward, concerned. "Is there anything else that's hurting?"

"No," came the reply. "Well, yes, but everything else just hurts a little bit. My ankle hurts a lot."

Now he understood why she hadn't moved her other leg before. "I'll take a look," he told her. He shuffled down until he was right beside her foot. There was no blood pouring everywhere, but that was about all he could tell while she still had her boot on. "I'm going to take your boot off, alright?" He could see her nod from the corner of his eye, and gently took hold of the boot. She flinched, and he snatched his hand back as though it had been burned.

"I just wasn't ready, that's all," she said.

"You're sure?" he asked, concerned.

"Just do it."

He nodded and reached for her boot again. He carefully undid the laces and pulled them as far out as he could, and then lifted her leg gently to pull the boot off. He heard her sharp gasp of breath and looked up to see her biting her lip, with tears escaping from her tightly shut eyes.

"Clary, you should've told me I was hurting you."

Her only response was to wipe angrily at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

"Don't do that, you'll get blood in your eyes," he told her. He pressed his handkerchief to her cheek again. "If your handkerchief's still clean, then wipe your eyes with that."

She gave a huff of irritation, but did as he suggested. After tucking her handkerchief back away again, she turned her head away from him.

"Clary, you need a healer. You can't walk, but I'll be able to carry you home."

He waited patiently while she thought about this.

"Alright," she said finally. "But wait for ten minutes or so first." She paused and then added "If we go right now, people will see I've been crying."

Tom couldn't help but laugh. "Everybody knows you're no lily-livered craven! This is much worse than when you sprained your wrist that time, I think your ankle might be broken. Honestly Clary, if my ankle was broken, I'm pretty sarden sure I'd be crying too." He could see her mouth turning up at the corner just a little. "You need a healer. The pain won't just go away by itself."

"Mother's going to be furious."

"There's no sense in worrying about that now. The most important thing is to get you home and get your ankle fixed." He rose onto his knees again and bent over her. "Put your arms around my neck," he told her. She did, and he wrapped one arm around her back and the other under her knees, making sure to scoop all her skirts up. He cautiously stood up. "Is that alright? You'll have to take care not to jostle your ankle."

"Tom, when did you get so big and strong?" she asked, her voice sounding surprised.

She could feel his chuckle. "My sisters would tell you to thank the 'never-ending depths' of my stomach. Ma says I'm a growing boy, and Da says it's the carpentry in my blood." He readjusted his grip on her. "Have I got you properly?"

Clary rested her head against his chest, exhausted. "Don't be a looby, Tom. You wouldn't drop me even if you were paid to."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Tom knew the Wright family well enough to avoid the house and go straight to the workshop at the side. "Master Wright?" He saw Clary's father at work and walked through the wide doors, taking care not to bump either her head or her feet. "Clary's hurt her ankle, I think it might be broken."

Master Wright quickly cleared a space on his workbench. "Sit her up here."

"Tom's comfier," murmured Clary.

Tom grinned. "I'm fine with her," he said, although his back and arms were starting to ache. He ignored them; they surely couldn't be anywhere near as bad as her ankle was.

Klee came as soon as Master Wright called him. "I need you to go and fetch the healer for Clary," he explained. "Do you remember where she lives?"

Both Clary and Klee rolled their eyes. Their mother had made all three of the Wright children memorise the healer's address as soon as they could. "Mistress Noryse, 13 Riverview Close. I go down to the end of the street, cross Barrelmakers Way, and go right until I reach Riverview Close on the left."

His father nodded and Klee left. "You take Clary upstairs and put her on her bed," he said to Tom. He gave Clary a look. "I'll tell your mother. She's not going to be happy."

Sure enough, Tom had just settled Clary onto her bed when her mother came up. "A broken ankle, your father said. And on top of that you've taken Berkeley's spare breeches and torn them! And just look at your hair, it's a tangled mess! Your brother and sister never caused this much trouble. I don't know what you were thinking, Clara!"

"It's not like I sarden broke it on purpose, Mother," snapped Clary.

"You won't be sarden doing anything until that ankle's properly healed," came the sharp reply. "It might be a week."

"A week! I'm not staying in bed for a week!"

"If you get bored, you can make yourself useful and mend those breeches."

Rosalind poked her head around the door. "Trust Clary to go and do something stupid," she said smugly.

"GET OUT OF MY BEDROOM, YOU SARDEN BUM-LICKING JINGLENOB!"

Tom snorted, and found himself being glared at by all three of them.

"Rosalind, out," ordered Mistress Wright. "You too, Tom. It's not appropriate for you to be in here."

"But I want Tom to stay," said Clary.

"You'll be fine," he told her. "I'll come and visit you tomorrow." He saw her mother pursing her lips. "Or I'll write you letters."

The healer came bustling in, and Clary sighed as Tom left.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

An hour later, Clary found herself left alone and told to go to sleep. The healer had said that she had to stay in bed for three days to make sure that the healing set properly, but that she'd probably sleep for most of that anyway. Three days was better than a week, but Clary still wasn't happy about spending three days stuck in bed. She was tired, but she didn't feel like sleeping. She wished that Tom was there to talk to, he always made things more fun and interesting. Her eyes caught sight of Tomcat up on her dresser and she smiled to herself. She shoved the covers back and carefully swung herself out of bed. She kept all of her weight on her good foot, testing her sore and bandaged ankle very cautiously. "Pox," she muttered as pain shot through it. She'd been glad in the past that the healer was so good at curing fever, but she wished she was better at healing broken bones. Wobbling on one leg, she stretched herself out until she could grab Tomcat off the dresser, and then let herself fall backwards onto her bed. Satisfied, she pulled the covers back over both of them and curled up, holding the stuffed toy close. She kissed the slightly worn spot on its nose and sank into a deep sleep immediately, a small smile on her face.


	6. Changes

I posted this chapter on The King's Own a few weeks ago, and a couple of the reviews made me think there might still be people reading it here, so I'm going to continue updating it here as well if people are keen for it. : ) If you're after updates of my other fic too, most of that is only going on The King's Own, I'm greenie over there.

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"Clary?" Tom heard a splash and looked up the river.

"I'm up here," her voice called back.

He could just make out a figure upstream, mostly hidden by the trees. "What are you doing?" He shoved his way through the bushes, narrowly avoiding having his eye poked out by a branch.

"Swimming," she replied, her voice implying that that much should be obvious. "It's too hot to do anything else." He could see a pile of her clothes, and realised that she was only wearing her white shift and loincloth. "And I'm playing with the sprites," she continued. "It's fun."

Tom couldn't help but peer into the water, even though he knew he couldn't see them. "They are female sprites, right?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

He looked away from her. "White goes see through when it's wet." He wasn't entirely sure how big the sprites were, but it was obvious that her body was beginning the change from a gixie to a mot, and he didn't want any of them getting any ideas.

She snorted. "Don't look then, if you're that worried about it."

"I'm not looking. That doesn't mean that other people wouldn't."

She floated on her back, letting her long hair stream out behind her. "It's too hot to care. Anyway, the sprites wouldn't let them." She sighed and splashed her way over to the bank. "I should get out now anyway. I need to dry off, and Mother would be annoyed if I was away from home for too long." After pulling herself out of the stream, she shook open her bundle of clothes and pulled out an old towel. She spread it out on the ground and flopped down. "The sun's so warm I'll be dry in no time," she told him. Tom grinned and settled himself down beside her.

"Why aren't you helping your father?"

"Some days are busy, and others we don't have much to do at all. Just depends on who's ordered what," he explained. "Da said I might as well go and enjoy myself, and that he'd just finish up with a few small bits and pieces." Clary nodded; it was often the same with her father.

"Tom," she began again after a few minutes' silence, "do you ever go out dancing?"

"Sometimes. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged as best as she could while lying down. "Just wondering." She was silent again for a little while before asking "Is it fun?"

"I think it is," he answered. "It's not the sort of thing that everyone likes though."

"I think it sounds fun," she said, and sighed. "Rosalind's just turned 16, and Mother's letting her go out dancing. And she's getting her some new dresses."

Tom chuckled. "Your turn will come too."

"In four years!" came the exasperated reply.

"They'll go by quickly enough."

She scowled at him. "That's sarden easy for you to say! You already get to go out dancing."

"How about I promise to take you out dancing as soon as you can, on your 16th birthday?"

She blinked, and then gave him one of her small, crooked smiles. "Really?"

"If you haven't already got scores of other boys wanting to take you out themselves."

She snorted. "Unlikely. Boys are bugnobs."

"Hey," he protested. "I'm a boy."

"No," she said. "You don't count."

He thought about that for a couple of minutes and decided it must be a compliment, in some sort of roundabout way. "You'll have boys surrounding you, all clamouring for a smile or a kiss from pretty Clary," he teased.

She frowned. "That just sounds annoying. Besides, Mother says no-one'll want to come near me because of my waspish nature."

Tom gave a laugh. "If they don't know about that, they'll still come. You should be able to scare them off quickly enough, though."

The corner of her mouth turned up in a satisfied smile. "Good."

They lay in companionable silence for another ten minutes or so before Clary reluctantly sat up. "I'd best get home. Mother's got a whole list of chores and errands she wants done by the end of the day." She stood up and began pulling out her spare shift and loincloth to change into before she got dressed. The sharp contrast of colour drew Tom's eye to the back of her shift.

"Um, Clary," he began. "There's blood on the back of your shift."

She twisted around and looked at the backs of her legs. "I think I might have scraped myself on a stick in the water."

"No, it's higher up. I think you must have your monthlies."

"My monthlies?" Her eyes widened. "Pox."

"Well, is it due about now? Even if it's not, my sisters' ones sometimes did strange things and came too early or too late when they were younger."

"Um…" she managed, and chewed on her nail.

Tom looked at her worried face and realised. "Is this your first one?"

She nodded, eyes wide.

"And you know what they are?"

Clary nodded again. "Mama told me."

"Alright," he said, and turned his back. "I'm not looking. You have a look at your loincloth and make sure that it is your monthlies." He looked around the small reserve, making sure that nobody else was there and that she had her privacy.

"Pox," he heard her mutter softly from behind him.

"It's alright," he told her. "Just change into your spare underthings and put your handkerchief in your loincloth. You can have mine too, if you want it."

"No," she said, sounding embarrassed. "I've got two anyway, both old ones."

"You sort that out then, and then we'll get you home."

"I'm finished," she told him a few minutes later. He turned to see her looking awkward and worried, but fully dressed and holding her tightly bundled towel. "Um," she managed. "I'm ready to go."

They started walking, and Tom smiled down at her. "You don't need to look so worried, it's nothing to worry about. It's normal."

She glared, looking very much like her usual self. "You're not the one that's sarden bleeding down there, are you?" she snapped.

"Poor Clary," he said, and slung an arm around her shoulder. "You'll get used to it soon enough."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

They arrived back at Clary's house just a couple of minutes later, and went straight to the front door.

"I'll stop by tomorrow and see how you're doing," Tom told her as she pushed open the door.

"Is that you, Clary?" asked her mother, coming to the door. "Hello, Tomlan," she added upon seeing him.

"Hello, Mistress Wright. I'm not staying, but Clary's got something to tell you. Bye, Clary." He was off whistling down the path before Clary could get so much as a goodbye from her mouth.

Her mother closed the door and turned to her. "What did you have to tell me? You'd best hurry up, I've got things to do, and you must have wet things in there to sort out." She nodded towards Clary's bundled up towel.

Clary felt her mouth tremble. "Ma, my monthlies started."

"Your monthlies?" She saw the look on Clary's face. "Oh, my poor girl." She wrapped her arms around her daughter and held her tightly.

Clary found a couple of tears leaking from her eyes and hastily wiped them away on her sleeve as her mother released her.

"It's nothing to be upset about."

Clary scowled. "I don't like it, and I want it to go away."

Her mother laughed. "At least you're handling it better than your sister did, and she was nearly a full year older than you." She pressed a hand to Clary's stomach. "Are you sore at all? I can make you a cup of tea to help ease it."

Clary shook her head. "I think it's going everywhere though, Ma. And I got blood on my other loincloth and shift too. There was lots of it." She pointed to her bundle, and felt her chin trembling again.

"Nothing that can't be dealt with, I'm sure." She gave Clary a small push to get her going up the stairs. "Accidents happen. Come on, let's get you sorted out."


	7. Consolation Present

I've had a really great response from you guys, so I'm going to keep on updating Balancing Act here for you. Keep up the reviewing, it makes me happy to see that people are enjoying it and that they still want it being posted! ;)

Set the day after the previous chapter.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

All three Wright women in the sitting room looked up as they heard the knock on the front door.

"I'll get it," offered Clary, eager to get away from the account keeping her mother was making her practice. She walked quickly into the hallway and opened the front door to find Tom grinning at her.

"Thought I'd come and see how you're doing," he explained.

A scowl came over her face. "I'm sick of the poxy thing already," she replied. "I wanted to go swimming again today."

"I thought you might be sulking." He pulled out a rose from behind his back and held it out to her. "I brought you this to cheer you up, and to congratulate you on being a woman and all that." She stared at it, and he laughed. "It's not going to bite you." He gently pressed it into her hand and then ruffled her hair. "I just can't believe my little Clary's all grown up."

She straightened her hair and glared at him. "I'm not little and I'm not yours. I'm mine." She couldn't help but admire the rose though. It certainly smelled wonderful. She tilted her head up to look at him and gave him a small half smile. "Thank you, Tom. It's beautiful."

He suddenly shoved a hand into his pocket, pulling out a raisin patty wrapped in a clean handkerchief. "Before I forget, I got this for you too because they smelled good when I walked past."

Clary grinned and broke it in half, handing one half and the handkerchief back to him.

Tom shook his head, looking sheepish. "I already had one on my way here."

She poked him with the hand that held it. "Take it."

"Don't you like it?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's called sharing, you ducknobbed looby. Don't tell me you can't fit another half in."

He chuckled and took it. "If you're sure. I've always got room for a little bit more."

"You're sarden predictable," she informed him, although she couldn't help but grin a little as she said it.

They bit into their pasties at the same time. "I told you it was good," mumbled Tom around his.

"You're supposed to swallow before you talk, it's sarden revolting," Clary complained.

"You just said that with a mouthful too," he pointed out.

"But I can't see myself doing it, so obviously I don't have to watch it."

Tom gulped down the rest of his pasty and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was thinking that tomorrow we could go on a picnic, a big one this time. Make it a bit of an adventure, to cheer you up a bit."

"What do you mean by 'a big one'?" she asked warily.

"Well, I was thinking we could go a little way into the Royal Forest. Ma already said she'd pack us a picnic lunch, and Da said I could borrow the horse and wagon from the shop just for the day."

Clary's face lit up. "Really? The Royal Forest? And going on the wagon with the horse to get there?" Her face fell again as she realised something. "Mother will never let me go. It's not _proper_."

He chuckled. "I know. I thought we could invite Klee and Leena along too. Would your ma agree to that?"

Clary thought about it and then gave him a small smile. "I think she might." She swallowed the last of her pasty and brushed the crumbs from her hands. "I'll ask her now."

……………………………………………………………………………………

Rosalind had gone upstairs to try on her dress by the time that Clary went back inside.

"Ma? Tom wants to know if me and Klee can go on a picnic with him and Leena tomorrow."

Her mother set her needlework down. "What's that you've got?"

Clary looked down and realised she was still holding the rose. "Tom gave it to me to congratulate me."

"Getting flowers from boys already?"

Clary blushed. "Tom doesn't count. Please can we go? Tom said it'll cheer me up."

"You haven't even finished yesterday's chores yet."

"It's not my fault I got my sarden monthlies. Please, Ma? I'll do all of yesterday's and today's and tomorrow's chores today. I promise."

"Where is he planning on going?"

Clary fiddled with her skirts and resisted the temptation to lie. "The Royal Forest. He's borrowing his da's horse and wagon."

"The Royal Forest? Clary, that's not proper."

"Mother! Tom's just being nice, he's doing it to cheer me up. And there'll be four of us. Please?"

"You'll need to ask Cook if she can give you some food, and –"

"Tom already said his mother would pack us a picnic."

"I can't go sending you off with nothing to contribute."

"I'll sort something. Can we go?"

"Only if your father says Berkeley can have the day off."

Clary beamed. "Klee's just an apprentice, Da doesn't actually need him for anything important." She saw the look on her mother's face. "I'll ask him anyway."

……………………………………………………………..

Clary raced back from the workshop to Tom. "We can go!"

He grinned at her. "That's great! In that case, I've got to go and help Da finish some things off before tomorrow."

She pulled a face. "I have to do all my chores today too."

"We'll come here and get you tomorrow morning at ten then." He ruffled her hair as he turned to leave, and she was too excited to even manage a proper scowl as she fixed it.

...............................................................

Clary opened the door before Tom even reached it. "I heard the wagon pulling up," she explained.

Klee came around the corner carrying two bags. "You mean you saw it too. She's been watching the road since half past nine."

Clary glared at him. "Have you got everything?"

"I haven't touched anything since the last time you checked it all."

"We've got a bit of food too," Clary told Tom, pointing to the bags. "And other things Ma thought we might need. And I baked apple pasties."

"You mean Cook did," corrected Klee.

"Cook helped," she snapped. "Go and put those in the wagon."

"Leena's out there with Sawdust," added Tom.

"She put salt instead of sugar in the first batch and then burnt the second," Klee informed Tom as he passed.

Tom chuckled as her face turned red. "My da always says that practice makes perfect. I'm sure they'll taste delicious."

................................................................

Clary was almost disappointed when they found a nice picnic spot in the forest, just off the side of a small road. She'd enjoyed sitting up in the wagon and watching everything go by, and it was exciting to travel somewhere outside of the city. Jumping down from the wagon, she looked around at the grass, the trees, and the stream. "This is a nice place," she admitted, and began to unload the wagon.

Tom looked around and saw Clary watching him with Sawdust. "I finished unloading," she said hastily, and he grinned.

"I'm just attaching a lead rope so I can let him off the wagon while we're here." Clary nodded and gave Sawdust's long nose a couple of pats. "Have you ever ridden a horse?" Tom asked suddenly. "I know you've come on the wagon delivering with me and Da a few times, but I don't think you've ridden him."

She shook her head.

"Do you want to have a go now?"

"Me, now?" She looked up at Sawdust. All of a sudden he looked a lot bigger, but riding him did sound like fun. She could picture herself galloping along like the lady knights did.

Tom chuckled at the look on her face. "You'll be fine. It is a lot harder than it looks though. And I didn't think to bring a saddle, so you'll have to try it bareback."

Clary nodded, and climbed up onto the wagon while Tom brought Sawdust close for her. She gathered up her skirts and clamoured on. She finally got herself settled comfortably and gently took hold of Sawdust's mane. "That wasn't so bad," she said.

Tom started walking forward, holding the lead rope, and Sawdust followed. All of a sudden, everything under Clary was moving in different places and at different times. She squeaked and clung on, causing Tom to burst out laughing. "It does feel funny at first," he told her. "But don't worry, you won't fall." He led them in a full circle, right around the clearing where Leena and Klee were setting up the picnic just to prove she could stay on. Finally, he tied the lead rope to a tree by the stream so that Sawdust could have a drink and eat some grass. "Just lean forward, swing your leg over, and slide off," he instructed. She did as he said, and felt her feet touch the ground before her ankle rolled and she fell over. She could hear Leena and Klee laughing, and even Tom was grinning a bit as he asked if she was alright and gave her a hand up.

"I know people get sore legs from riding, but I didn't know it happened that quickly," teased Leena.

"I just landed on a clump of grass and lost my balance," Clary grumbled.

"Sure you did," said Klee, still snorting with laughter.

"I did! It's right here, see?" She pointed at it.

Tom laughed and slung an arm around her shoulders. "I see it. Come on, let's have some lunch."

..............................................................................

They were all enjoying their picnic lunch when Klee pointed behind Clary. "Look, a squirrel!" They all turned to look.

"Maybe it's hungry," said Tom, and began breaking off pieces of his bread roll. He held them out to the squirrel, but it wouldn't come any closer.

"Trust you to think it's after food," replied Clary as he set small chunks of bread out in a line towards the squirrel. "It's probably just about to attack us because we're too close to its favourite tree or something."

Tom shrugged. "It doesn't hurt to offer it something." Sure enough, the squirrel came forward and started eating the chunks of bread as they watched, gradually coming closer to them.

"It's probably got fleas," Clary complained.

"You're sounding like Ma," pointed out Klee, and Clary rolled her eyes.

The squirrel soon ended up in the middle of their rug, happily accepting food straight from Tom's hand. "I wish we could take it home," said Leena. "It's cute."

It had probably just eaten its fill, but as soon as Leena spoke, the squirrel took one last piece of bread from Tom and scurried off. Clary laughed so hard that her stomach hurt.

..............................................................................

Clary lay on her back in the sunshine as Tom munched on one of her apple pasties. "You're not sulking because you can't go swimming, are you?"

Of course she was sulking. She could see and hear Leena and Klee sitting on the bank and splashing their feet in the cool water. She knew she could be too, but it would be tormenting herself because she knew she couldn't properly go swimming. "I'm fine," she said. "It's nice here in the sun too."

"I told you these apple pasties would be good, and I was right."

She sat up suddenly and sneezed several times, and then smiled at him sheepishly. "The sun was in my eyes." She quickly touched a knuckle to her nose and it came away stained red. She swore and fumbled to find her handkerchief. "I thought it felt like that had happened."

Tom was staring. "You sneezed and got a bleeding nose?"

Klee and Leena had heard and looked over. "She just gets those sometimes," explained Klee.

"Ma said she got them quite a bit when she was younger too," added Clary's muffled voice.

"Are you going to be alright?" Tom asked, concerned. "Do you think it will stop soon? It wouldn't be good if you lost too much blood."

"It's just a nosebleed Tom, I'll be fine when it stops."

"It's not just the nosebleed I'm thinking of." He raised his eyebrows, and she realised what he meant.

"Great," she muttered. "Now I'm sarden bleeding out of both ends."

Tom couldn't help but laugh. "Poor Clary. You can have my handkerchief too if yours gets too bloody."

"Thanks, but I think it's slowing down now."

A few minutes later it had stopped completely, and Clary got to her feet. "I hate stupid, poxy, sarden, fen-sucked nosebleeds," she complained. She coughed and then spat a big clot of blood into a bush. "It's sarden revolting, I hate the taste of blood."

Tom handed her the water pitcher. "Have a drink, and eating a bit of food might help too."

"I couldn't eat another bite. I think I'd throw it up on the wagon ride home."

"Speaking of that," added Leena. "Hadn't we best be going? We've been here a long time."

"Ma said she wanted us back before dark," agreed Clary glumly.

"Only if you think you'll be alright to go, Clary." Tom looked at her, concerned. "If we go too soon, the wagon might jolt your nose into bleeding again."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Tom, I'm fine now. Really. I don't want to go, but we should. Let's get packed up."

.............................................................

Tom handed the reigns to Leena and jumped down to help Clary and Klee get their things.

"Thank you, Tom. I had such a wonderful time, and you were right, it did cheer me up. Thank you for such a great day!" She felt like she should say so much more, but couldn't find the words to express her gratitude enough. Impulsively, she stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

Klee's mouth fell open. "Clary and Tomlan, sitting in a-"

"Shut your gob," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "It wasn't like that." Leena was stifling giggles. "It wasn't," she insisted, and scowled. "So much for being friendly."

"Thank you, Tom," said Klee. "I'm not kissing you though."

Clary huffed and rolled her eyes, and Tom laughed. "I know you were just being friendly," he told her, and ruffled her hair. "I'll see you whenever I see you then," he said with a grin, and jumped back onto the wagon. Clary and Klee stood and waved as Tom and Leena drove off down the street.

Once they were gone, Klee grinned at his sister. "Clary and Tomlan, sit-"

She kicked him lightly as they started walking up the path. "Don't be such a ducknob."

"You're the ducknob, you completely missed his lips." He made kissing noises and laughed. "I'd tell you to plant a big sloppy kiss on his mouth next time, but kissing you would be disgusting and I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Clary shoved him.

"What? I have to say that, I'm your little brother."

She grabbed hold of him and planted a kiss on his cheek, then walked through the door laughing as he complained and tried to rub it off.


	8. Runaway

Clary waved at the figure across the street and caught Tom's attention. He waved back with a grin and came jogging across to them.

"Where're you three off to?"

Clary beamed. "Rosalind's taking us to the markets."

"What are you getting?"

"We're just having a look," chimed in Klee.

"I'm getting something," Clary told Tom. "I don't know exactly what yet, but I've been saving up my money for _ages _and I'm going to buy something nice for myself. Mama gave us some money too, for a bit of a treat."

"Hurry up!" came Rosalind's voice from down the road.

Clary rolled her eyes. "We better go. She's actually being nice for once, and I don't want to put her in a bad mood."

Klee snorted. "Should take bets on how long that'll last."

Clary elbowed him. "You're too young to be betting."

"So're you."

Tom chuckled. "You don't want to be throwing your money away like that anyway, there are much better things to do with it. Have a nice time at the markets!" They both said their goodbyes and Tom strolled off up the street, whistling. Clary and Klee looked at each other and then ran to catch up to Rosalind.

* * *

Everything was going well at the markets until they reached the stall with the face paints and Rosalind stopped. "I could do with some more lip colour."

Clary looked wide-eyed at all the little pots of face paints. "Me too."

Rosalind sniggered. "You don't have any in the first place."

"Well, I want some."

"Don't be a looby, you're too little."

Clary glared at her. "I'm NOT little, and I can have them if I want them."

"Now, now," interrupted the mot behind the stall. "I have plenty for everyone. How can I help?"

Rosalind smiled sweetly at her. "I'd like to buy some lip colour, please."

"Me too," added Clary.

"Ignore _her_," Rosalind told the woman. "She's just my poxy little sister."

"I'm not poxy!" she snapped. "I just- ow!" Rosalind had pinched her arm, hard, out of sight of the mot they were speaking to. Clary kicked her and she flinched.

"They're always like this," Klee told the vendor conversationally. She grinned and rolled her eyes good-naturedly in reply.

"Mama said _I'm _in charge," Rosalind was saying loftily. "That means you do what I say."

"I can buy what I want to! It's _my _money."

Rosalind dug her nails into Clary's wrist. "There's no point in _you _buying face paints, even if you were old enough. You're so ugly that nothing would be able to improve you anyway."

Clary stomped on her foot and shoved her backwards with enough force to send her falling backwards into the street muck.

"You sarden little _brat_!" she screeched. Clary saw the coloured light of her Gift beginning to pool around her hands, and her eyes widened. The last time Rosalind had managed to get her with her magic, it had _hurt. _There was no way she was just going to let her do that again, but without the sprites nearby to protect her there was no option but to get away. Making sure she didn't lose her money, Clary wove her way around the other people and stalls in the marketplace, until she was sure there was no way for anyone to have followed her.

* * *

"Clary?" Tom lifted the lamp higher, trying to see if the shape was a person or more shrubbery. The shape moved, and the light caught Clary's face. "I hoped I'd find you here," he said in relief. "Clary, are you alright?" She wasn't moving to get up so he sat himself down beside her on the riverbank, the lamp between them. "I came across your da and Klee out looking for you and told them I'd help. Klee said you both got into a fight and you ran off, but apparently Rosalind's saying you attacked her because you were demanding that she give you more money and she was refusing."

"That's not true," said Clary. "She's lying. She was going to hurt me with her magic."

"I thought Klee's version would be much closer to the truth."

Clary nodded and smoothed her skirt absentmindedly. "Aren't you going to ask me if I had fun at the markets?"

Tom blinked at her. "Well, you ran away, so…"

"Well," she said, "I did have fun. Oh, and I got these for you." She fumbled around and then handed him a small package of his favourite sweets.

"Thanks!" He offered them to her immediately and then took one after her. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," she said. "I wanted to. And I bought myself some things too. See?" She held her arm out in front of his face, and he saw the light glinting on metal.

"New bracelet?" He held her arm gently so that he could admire it more closely.

She nodded. "It's mostly silver with some copper in it too. It wasn't very expensive, but I like it." She put her arm back down by her side and turned her head away from him. "And look."

Tom looked. "…what'm I supposed to be looking at?"

Clary huffed. "I had eardrops put in, you bugnobbed looby."

He leaned closer and saw them. "They look nice. Did it hurt?"

"No." She snorted. "_Rosalind _was fine when she had hers done, so I knew I'd be fine. I'm no craven, even if I am younger than she was."

"How old was she?"

"Sixteen. I was supposed to wait until I was sixteen too, but Mother wasn't there to stop me."

"Do you think she'll be angry?"

"Yes," she replied triumphantly. Although now that she thought about it, it didn't seem to be such a good thing now as it had at the time. She pushed that thought aside. "Rosalind will be furious," she said. That definitely still felt good. "Well, do they look nice?"

She saw him smile at her. "Very nice. They make you look older."

"Really?" She beamed.

"Absolutely. Next thing I know, you'll be getting wrinkles." He ruffled her hair. "But I think it's time to get our grown up girl back home again."

She fixed her hair, ignoring him. Finally she spoke. "I'm not going home."

"Clary, why would you not go home?"

She drew her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. "I don't want to."

"Everyone's been very worried. Your da said your mother's beside herself."

Clary snorted. "Mother doesn't actually care about me. She only cares about me being perfect and making a good marriage so she can brag to all her friends about it."

"That's not true, Clary. She might be angry at you at first, but she'll also be very relieved that you're safe. I know you don't always get along with her, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love you. Don't forget about your da and Klee either, they'll be very glad to have you back." She was still silent, so he tried a different angle. "Besides, I'd miss you too if you didn't go home."

That got her to look at him. "But I could tell you where I was. You could come and visit me."

Tom shook his head. "If you don't want to be found, you'd have to go a long way away, like mayhap Scanra or sommat. We'd probably never see each other again."

Clary thought this over. "It doesn't seem like such a good idea anymore," she muttered.

"You'd be hungry and cold and lonely," Tom pointed out. "And you wouldn't have money to buy yourself nice things like that bracelet or those eardrops."

She fingered one of the eardrops. "Mother's going to be furious."

"But not forever. Mayhap for a day or so, but after that things will go back to themselves." He got to his feet, picking the lantern up. "Come on, let's get you home. Have you got everything?" Clary nodded. He took hold of her hand to help her up, and then didn't let go. Normally she'd have protested, but right then she didn't mind. It was surprisingly comforting.

…………………………………………………

All too soon they were outside Clary's house, and she hurriedly drew her hand away. She reluctantly followed as Tom walked up the path. He knocked on the door but then opened it himself. "Hello? Mistress Wright, I've got Clary here." They heard a door crashing open and then running footsteps, and Klee threw himself at her. "I thought you'd just come home but then we got home and you weren't here and Rosalind was telling Ma untruths about you and I said she was lying and then she got mad at me and said that I was lying just so you wouldn't get in trouble but Da believes me and I'm really glad you're home."

The corner of Clary's mouth turned up just a little. She realised he was in his nightclothes, and had red eyes as though he'd been crying. "What's the time? And where's Da?"

"It's past ten, and your father's gone back out looking for you," her mother snapped, coming out of the sitting room. "It's dangerous out there, if he's hurt it'll be all your fault for running off selfishly."

"But Mother, I –"

"Quiet, you've caused more than enough trouble for today!"

"But Rosalind –"

She slapped her. "I told you I don't want to hear it!"

The side of Clary's face stung, and she felt fury building up inside her. Before she knew what she was doing, she'd raised her hand to slap her back.

It was Tom that stopped her, his hand around her wrist. He leaned in close to her ear. "Clary, she's your mother," he murmured, so that only she could hear.

She felt herself droop; he was right. They didn't always get along, but she did love her mother still. She'd have felt bad later and been in even more trouble if she had slapped her. She wrenched her wrist out of Tom's grasp and ran up the stairs. "You're cracknobbed and mean and I _hate _you," she shouted once she was safely out of her mother's reach, and she slammed her bedroom door.

………………………………………………

Tom quietly opened the door to the barn and workshop and peered inside. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, but he was sure that he'd heard the door opening and closing in the quiet of the night. He held the lamp up, letting the light grow and take over the shadows of darkness, and he saw her. After pulling the door quietly shut, he made his way over to where she'd curled up in the hay with the cats around her. She was still in her nightdress, but she'd slipped pattens onto her feet and wrapped a blanket around herself. Tom smiled as he saw she held the grey cat toy he'd given her a few years before. Clary had been asleep, but her tearstained eyes flickered open as he drew near. Tom set the lamp down. "Did your da come home?"

She nodded in reply.

"Well, that's good. You shouldn't have come really, you know. The streets are especially dangerous at night."

She blinked and rubbed her eyes sleepily. "I climbed out my window," she told him. In her half-asleep state, it didn't even register to her that that wasn't explaining much at all.

Tom chuckled and passed her one of the pillows he'd brought down. "We'll get you back home at dawn, before your mother wakes up and finds out you're gone." She didn't protest to this plan, so he tucked an extra blanket around her for warmth before settling himself down with the other pillow and blanket. "Goodnight," he whispered, and then smiled as he realised she was already asleep again._ Obviously had a tiring adventure today_, he thought, and blew the lamp out.

* * *

Clary decided it was best to ignore the fact that they'd snuggled up together during the night, and instead scolded him for his sarden snoring. Neither of them knew it then, but it was the first of many.


	9. Disruption

"Hey, Tom! Want to go and do something fun? Your da said –" Clary stopped and stared as she ran into the barn. She thought at first glance that mayhap it was Leena and one of the boys she'd had her eye on, but it was definitely Tom giving her a sheepish grin as he broke apart from a _girl_.

"Hello Clary." He seemed fairly relaxed, considering she'd just walked in on him _kissing _someone. "Sorry, we didn't hear you coming."

Clary eyed the other girl. "Distracted, I suppose," she replied tartly.

The other girl took hold of Tom's hand. "Tomlan, who's this little girl?" she asked. "I thought I met your younger sister."

"I'm not little," Clary snapped, and glared at her.

"This is Clary," announced Tom. "We've been friends for years. And Clary, this is Hanna."

"Hello Hanna," said Clary overly brightly. "I'd say it's nice to finally meet you, but Tom's never mentioned you. Never ever, not even once. It's such a pity."

"We've only been sweethearts a couple of days, Clary. It's been a week since I last saw you."

"Oh, you're sweethearts!" she said, deliberately making her eyes wide and innocent. "How…sweet. Were you slobbering all over each other when I walked in, then? I thought you were picking lice out of her hair."

Hanna looked outraged. "I don't have lice!"

Clary gave her a sickly sweet smile. "Oops. Silly little me."

Hanna leaned into Tom. "Aren't children funny sometimes?" Clary scowled. "I remember being her age – how old are you, ten? Eleven maybe?"

"I'm thirteen and a half," snapped Clary.

They all turned towards the door as they heard Tom's mother calling him.

"I'll be right back," he told them. "Clary, why don't you show Hanna the cats?"

Hanna waited until he was out of earshot. "Don't bother," she sneered. "I hate cats."

Clary crossed her arms and looked her over. "I suppose you think you're all grown up and clever."

Hanna looked smug. "I'm seventeen, same age as Tomlan. I suppose we must seem very grown up to a little girl like you."

"Seventeen," repeated Clary, and the smile she gave Hanna resembled that of a predator. "I'm _very _good at dealing with annoying seventeen year olds."

"How nice."

Clary's eyes narrowed. "I don't like you," she told her seriously, and Hanna laughed.

"Why would I care about what some bugnobbed little brat thinks of me?"

Clary's eyes widened. It was bad enough that Tom had decided to waste his time with a girl, but this Hanna was _horrible_. "At least I'm not a sarden poxy, fensucked hedgecreeper like you!"

Hanna grabbed onto her arm, her nails digging in. "I don't care if you're jealous or cracknobbed or if Tomlan's just spoiled you rotten; you're going to be spending a lot less time with him now and you might as well get used to it."

Clary narrowed her eyes. "We'll see about that," she told her, and stomped on her foot. Hanna released her in shock at the sudden pain, and Clary ran for the door that Tom had gone out.

It didn't take her long to find him; he was just coming out of the back door as she approached it. He looked at her, puzzled. "Is everything alright?"

"No," said Clary. "She's horrible and she hates cats and you should get rid of her _now_."

"Clary, I don't want to get rid of her. I like her."

"In that case, I think you need to see a healer," she told him seriously. "It's not like you even need a girl anyway."

"Maybe I don't need a sweetheart, but if we want to be together there's no harm in it. It doesn't hurt to start thinking about things like marriage."

"_Marriage_? You want to marry _her_? There's a lot of harm in that." She made her eyes go wide and convincing again. "You've got to be careful with her, Tom. I think she might have fangs."

"Fangs?"

"Yes, like some of those monsters that got shut in the divine realms. Nursey told me about those when I was little. Maybe she escaped."

"Clary, that's just silly."

"The sprites told me so."

Tom's eyebrows raised. "You've been all the way down to the stream and back since I saw you in the barn?"

Irritated and sulking, Clary crossed her arms. "She called me a bugnobbed little brat!"

"And what did you say to her?"

Clary scowled at him. "Nothing she didn't deserve."

"Clary, I'm sure it was all just a misunderstanding." He reached out to ruffle her hair, but she slapped his hand away.

"I bet you don't ruffle _her_ hair. Stop treating me like I'm a baby, Tom! It's bad enough that _she_ does."

Tom blinked. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," she snapped. "It always takes me ages to fix it."

"Your hair is getting very long now," he told her. "It looks nice on you, Clary." He'd have been rewarded with a small smile if Hanna hadn't chosen that exact moment to come out of the barn.

"Oh, Clary's still here," she said. "I'd wondered what was holding you up, Tomlan." She looked at Clary. "Don't you have any other friends to run along and play with?"

Of course Clary had other friends…although she didn't actually _like_ them. Her mother's friends' daughters usually had much more in common with Rosalind than with her and never wanted to do anything fun.

"I just came to see if Tom wanted to go somewhere, but it looks like he'd rather have a boring day at home today." She looked at Tom. "I'm going to go and climb a tree, and if I fall and hurt myself again, it's going to be all your fault." She stuck her nose up in the air and stalked off.

"Clary, wait!" She heard his running footsteps behind her and stopped when he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Clary, I don't want you to get hurt. Please be careful, I'd be very upset if something bad happened to you."

She just scowled. "Well apparently you wouldn't be upset enough."

"I'm sorry I can't spend time with you today. I'll talk to Da though, mayhap we could do something fun tomorrow if he doesn't need me to help him."

"It'll probably be raining tomorrow," she muttered gloomily.

"We can still find something to do indoors. I have something to give you too."

"Really?" She smiled, her smile widening when she saw Hanna looking impatient back by the house.

"Really," Tom assured her. "I saw it and knew it would be perfect for you."

"You're so nice, Tom," she said, and hugged him. She wasn't usually affectionate with others at all, but this was worth it to see the look on Hanna's face. She fought to hide her smirk as she pulled away. "I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow then." Tom grinned at her and nodded, and she walked off down the street. Perhaps it was quite good that she had the rest of the day to herself. It looked like she had a _lot _of plotting to do.


	10. Inspiration

Clary hurried through the marketplace, making sure to keep an eye on her basket and her purse in case somebody tried to take her mother's money or the potions she'd been sent to get. She also looked at the stalls full of interesting things as she passed, especially the ones selling jewellery or pretty rolls of cloth. She'd have loved to stop and admire them properly, but she was supposed to be home by midday, and her mother was waiting for her to bring the potions to ease her headache.

All of a sudden she heard shouts calling for the Dogs from other people in the marketplace. Looking around, she saw that there was a crowd gathering a few stalls away and went to see what was going on. She squeezed around people until she could get a good view of what was happening, and saw a mot hit a cove so hard she sent him flying. There was another man there too, with a knife in his hand, and he lunged towards the mot now. Clary's eyes widened, thinking he'd stab her, but instead the woman gave him a solid kick in the stomach and left him winded. She could gather from the voices around her that these men were a pair of loobies who'd thought they could grab the mot, have her purse and anything else she had of value and get away without being caught. Clary supposed it might have worked, but it seemed they'd had the bad luck to pick an off-duty Dog and she was making them regret their choice.

The crowd started moving behind her and people were saying that the Dogs had arrived. A hand grabbed at her arm and tugged her backwards; she shook it off and hastily checked that the money and potions were still untouched.

"Sorry," said a heavily accented voice from behind her. "I am no bad man. People in black have…hard sticks."

Clary turned around and stared at him. He was young, probably only a few years older than Tom, and he didn't seem like a cracknob. He was smiling at her, his big brown eyes looking completely relaxed, and she supposed his Common just wasn't very good. It seemed that he was trying to tell her that he'd pulled her out of the way in case the Dogs started hitting people to make them move. It was fair enough, really, since the heavy batons did look quite painful. She turned back again to watch as the Dogs came through. It wasn't long at all before the two of them and the mot that had been attacked had hobbled the two Rats, and the Dogs were leading them away to be taken to the cages.

"I would like this," said the same voice from behind her. "Stop bad people with my stick."

Clary nodded, but it wasn't really the Dogs with their batons that had impressed her. It was the way that the woman had looked completely unsuspecting just like any other mot, and had then fought them off all by herself. She thought it would be fantastic to be able to fight like that, she was sure it would come in useful. _I want to be just like her when I grow up_, she thought. It would certainly be much more interesting than being boring and doing things like sewing and accounts. The crowd began to break up and she set off in the direction of home, her mind now occupied. _So to fight like that, I'd have to be a Dog. _Clary grinned to herself. _That could be fun._


	11. Revenge

Set the day after the previous chapter.

Clary opened the door to see Tom's smiling face. "It's not even raining," he told her, and the corner of her mouth turned up.

"You don't have to work?"

"Da gave me the morning off. Well, all day really, but I have to do chores this afternoon because I'm going out dancing this evening."

Clary scowled. "It's not fair. I want to be old enough to go out dancing."

"You'll get there." Tom grinned at her. "You're getting older every day."

"Not helping." Clary rolled her eyes. "Everyone gets older every day."

"Well, I wouldn't buy something like this for a little gixie." He brought his hands out from behind his back and held out a small wooden box. The top was carved in a swirling pattern and inlaid with a silvery metal.

Clary's eyes widened. "It's beautiful, Tom." She leaned in closer to admire it and then suddenly straightened. "Are you sure you don't want it for yourself?" she blurted out.

Tom's mouth twitched. "It's not really my taste," he said. "And it's supposed to be for jewellery." He pushed it into her hands. "Have a look inside."

Clary carefully opened it up, and saw a pair of eardrops sitting inside one of the little sections. To her great embarrassment, she felt her eyes suddenly welling up with tears.

"Clary, are you all right? I don't mind if you don't like them."

She wiped at her eyes, but the more she tried to stop crying, the more she did it. "I really like them," she managed to say. "I'm happy, and I don't even know why I'm crying but I can't stop."

Tom chuckled and stepped forwards, wrapping his big arms around her. "My ma said it's a mot thing. Leena burst into tears last year when Mama said she'd make her a new dress, and I remember years and years ago, my oldest sister started crying on her birthday when she got overwhelmed. Same with when she got married, actually. And my other sister always gets teary before her monthlies start, well, according to Mama. But she knows all about things like that."

Clary stepped away from Tom and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I'm fine now," she told him. "You have to forget this immediately, or else."

"Already forgotten," he told her, and grinned. "So, am I safe to ask if you like it?"

Clary nodded. "Thank you, Tom, they're really beautiful. And I didn't have a jewellery box before, and I only had the pair of eardrops the mot put in when she put the holes in my ears for me. So they're perfect. Thank you very, _very_ much."

"Am I going to get another kiss on the cheek?"

Clary blushed and frowned at him. "Is that why you gave me these things? I didn't mean that other one like a _kiss _kiss."

"Relax," he told her. "I was just teasing."

"Mama always makes us kiss people on the cheek when we say thank you," Clary explained. "She says that it's sweet and affectionate."

"Am I not deserving of sweetness and affection?"

"Yes," said Clary. "But shouldn't _Hanna_ be giving it? Although there's nothing sweet about her, really. I don't know why you'd want her for a sweetheart, she's more like…a sourheart."

"Clary-"

She stood on tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I decided I could suffer for a few moments in return for these," she told him, indicating the jewellery box with the eardrops inside it.

Tom chuckled and raised a hand as though he was going to ruffle her hair, but he hastily dropped it again. "Sorry," he said. "I almost forgot. Why don't we go and do something fun?"

………………………….

Clary stopped swinging the purse abruptly. "Klee, you know how I told you about Tom's new sweetheart?"

"She can't be _that _bad, Clary. Are you jealous or sommat?"

Clary elbowed him. "I'm not jealous and she really is that bad. And now's your chance to find out, because that's her over there." Hanna saw them approaching in her direction and frowned. "Hello!" said Clary brightly.

Hanna looked at Klee. "There's more of you. How delightful."

"This is my brother, Berkeley," Clary told her. "Klee, this is Hanna, Tom's new _sweetheart_."

Klee held his hand out for Hanna to shake, and she sneered at it. "You're probably covered in mud. Isn't that what little boys like to do?"

Clary crossed her arms. "He's not little, and neither am I."

"Lovely as this little chat is, I have to go," Hanna said haughtily. "_I'm _going out dancing with Tomlan this evening and I have to get ready."

"I'm _so _sad that you have to leave," Clary replied. "Meeting you here unexpectedly was the most glorious part of our day." Klee giggled, and Hanna stuck her nose in the air and walked off.

Clary watched Klee staring after her. "I told you so," she said smugly.

Klee nodded. "We're going to have to do something about her."

……………………………….

Clary opened the door just as the sun was setting. "Hello again, Tom. What are you doing here? I thought you were going out dancing with Hanna."

"I was going to," he answered. "But she's hurt."

"Hurt?" asked Clary. "Klee and I saw her at the markets this afternoon, and she was her usual healthy, nasty self."

"This only just happened," Tom told her. "She came out the front door to meet me, and fell right over. Turns out some of the lads and gixies around her house had played a prank on her or sommat, they'd tied a piece of string at ankle height across the doorway."

Clary shook her head as she struggled to hide her smirk. "Children these days," she said, making sure to sound innocent and disapproving. "I'm sure I never did anything that nasty when I was little."

"I'm sure they didn't mean to harm her so badly, just trip her a little and give her a fright."

Clary's eyes widened. "What do you mean 'harm her so badly'? She's not dead, is she?" She didn't want to have a murder on her hands.

"Dead? No, of course not. She did break her wrist and her nose though, and she was covered in mud. Why are you so concerned? I thought you didn't even like her."

"I don't," she hurriedly assured him. "I just thought that the, the children who did it wouldn't have meant to _kill _her, just give her a few scratches as a joke. I'd have felt bad for them if they'd killed her when they hadn't meant to, that's all. Maybe they just didn't like her very much."

"Well, their joke means I can't go out dancing with her tonight." Clary fought the urge to grin. "So," Tom continued, "I thought mayhap you and Klee could come and play cards in the barn with me and Leena again."

Clary crossed her arms. "So we're your backup plan? The second best lot to fall back on?"

"I didn't mean it like that, Clary. It's just that now that I have a sweetheart-"

"Sourheart, you mean." Clary had decided she liked that word.

"With Hanna around now, my time is more divided. Now that she's hurt and I am no longer with her for tonight, I thought you might like to have an extra portion of my time. I know you were mad about yesterday."

Clary let her smile spread out over her face. "Cards in your barn, then? I'll fetch Klee, that sounds perfect." She started to turn back into the house, but stopped. "How long's she going to be hurt for?" she asked hopefully. "A week?"


	12. Thief

Clary is 14.

…………………………

Clary's eyes flew open as she heard the wood creaking by her bedroom door. She strained her eyes and, to her horror, saw a shape moving out of her bedroom and into the hall. Her da was away in Port Caynn delivering a set of beds, and that shape was far too big to be her mother or Rosalind or Klee - which meant that somebody else had been in her bedroom.

She wanted to just stay in her bed, to pull the covers over her head and pretend that nothing was wrong, but it was far better to do something rather than nothing. That person most definitely should not be in her house, and she had to get rid of them. She argued with herself over whether or not to light a candle, but decided that she'd rather be caught and be able to see than not know what was happening in the darkness. Carefully, she sat up in bed as quietly as she could and reached for the candle and matches. Her eyes widened as she heard her mother shriek. There wasn't much point in keeping quiet now, especially with the candle lit, so she hurried for the door and carefully looked out. Her mother and Rosalind were both standing at the other end of the hallway looking frightened, and there was a man standing in front of them holding a knife.

He turned and looked at Clary. "You be a good little gixie and come over here."

Clary gasped when she saw him holding Tomcat and her jewellery box under his other arm. "They're _mine_," she said indignantly. "Give them back!"

The thief laughed. "Make me."

"Give them back and get out of our house!"

"'Ere now, stop making all that noise." He started walking towards her. "Or I'll make you stop."

Clary's eyes widened. "Stop moving or…or I'll scream!"

"Not if I slit yer throat first." He lunged for her and Clary ran down the stairs as quickly as she could. The man stayed at the top, unsure whether to follow her or stay up there.

Clary looked at her mother and Rosalind. "Don't just stand there, get into a bedroom or sommat!"

That made the thief's mind up; he advanced on them with the knife. "Don't move. And ye, the little gixie-" he nodded his head in Clary's direction, "don't ye think of goin' anywhere. If ye do, ye'll never see these two mots breathin' again."

"I'm not little," muttered Clary as her mother gasped and Rosalind wailed. "You're not going to kill them," she told the thief, trying to sound a lot more confident than she felt. "Because that would make my da _really _mad and he'd kill you too."

The thief laughed. "There's no man in this house, only a little boy. I looked around."

"Da's not in the house, he's sleeping in his workshop because he has to get up early," she lied.

"I've been watchin' yer house, ye little hedgecreeper. Yer da's gone away."

"You keep telling yourself that while I fetch him," she answered, and hurried off down the hallway to Klee's door. He was there already, woken up by the voices and looking terrified. Clary pushed past him to find his candle and light it from hers. She handed it to him, ignoring her mother's orders to come back and do what the man said so that nobody was hurt. "Klee, I need you to fetch the Dogs. Go out the back door so he doesn't see you."

He gulped. "But I think I'm supposed to…_do_ something."

Clary pushed him towards the back door. "Find the closest Dogs as quickly as you can. I'll sort something out." They were both outside now, and Klee ran out the gate to the road. Clary hoped he would find some help quickly, and ran down the path to her da's workshop. She reached the door and pushed on it frantically, and then swore when she realised he'd locked it. Of course he'd lock it; to protect his tools from the thief she needed them for. There was nothing else she could do; she'd have to settle for using the biggest knife she could find in the kitchen and hope it was big enough.

She was so busy worrying that she stumbled over the axe that her da kept by the woodpile by the back door. She looked at it and carefully picked it up. It was heavy, but surely it would be better than just a knife. At least it was bigger. She walked back into the house with it, and up the stairs. The candle was a problem – she couldn't keep on holding it. She put it down on the other side of the stairs and hoped nobody would knock it.

The thief laughed at her. "Ye planning on doin' sommat with that axe?"

"I'm going to make you give my things back and get out of my house," she snapped. "And the other things too," she added, seeing that he'd helped himself to nice things from the other bedrooms while she had been gone.

He turned to her and started walking towards her with the knife, but she was ready for him this time. She lifted the axe up and then swung it at him, and missed. The axe hit the banister and stuck in the wood, and the man was right in front of her now. Clary gulped and went to kick him in the stomach to wind him. She'd forgotten that her nightdress was much more restrictive than her usual dress, and she couldn't reach. Instead, her knee ended up between his legs and had a surprisingly good effect; he dropped his armful of their things that he had taken and doubled over, moaning and clutching at himself.

Clary used this opportunity to pull the axe out of the banister. It took her a lot of effort, but she managed to get it out, although the force of her pulling caused it to go back over her head and make a dent in the wall. Her mother scolded her from the doorway for destroying the house, and Clary rolled her eyes. What was the sense in having a perfect house if they were all dead? At least they'd both had the sense to stand in one of the bedrooms rather than staying in the hallway.

She frowned in concentration and swung the axe again. This time she hit him on the head with the blunt part of the axe as he straightened. He stumbled and dropped the knife, his eyes unfocussed and rolling. Clary wished she'd hit him a bit harder and knocked him unconscious. Still, this dizziness wasn't bad either. She kicked the knife behind her so he couldn't pick it up again, and used the axe to push him backwards to the end of the hallway where her mother and Rosalind had been. She lifted the axe and pushed it against his throat. "Don't move, or I'll push harder and slit your throat," she told him. He didn't answer but he didn't move either, so Clary resigned herself to waiting for the Dogs.

It wasn't long before she heard footsteps arriving at the back door and a pair of Dogs strode down the hallway. She had never been so thankful to see that black uniform! Both of them slowed down a little and blinked when they saw her, and then the mot Dog grinned. "We expected things to be much worse than this. I'm impressed."

The other Dog's eyes were fixed on the thief. "Let's get this Rat properly hobbled first."

Clary stepped aside but didn't lower the axe until she was sure he wouldn't try and escape; there was no way she was going to let him get away now. Klee sidled up to her as the Dogs finished tying the thief up and searching him. "Are you alright, Clary?"

"Of course," she said, and elbowed him gently. "I told you I'd sort him out."

The mot Dog was watching her. "You managed that all by yourself?" she asked. Her eyes flicked to Clary's mother and Rosalind, who were coming out of the bedroom with blankets and shawls.

Clary nodded, and her mother huffed. "You should've done what you were told. You could've been hurt!"

"We all could've been killed if we'd done as he said," Clary snapped.

The Dog nodded in agreement. "She's right." She eyed the axe that Clary was still holding. "And that looks heavy, too. I _am _impressed." Clary set the axe down against the wall; she wouldn't be needing it anymore. Her mother wrapped a shawl around her, and Clary shoved it aside. "_Mother_. I'm fine."

Her mother tucked it around her again. "It's not decent, with you wearing just a thin nightdress."

"_Mother!_" Clary snapped in exasperation. "_He_-" she gestured to the thief, "is lying face down on the floor, and the Guardsman is wearing a wedding band. I'm sure he's seen a lot more than a nightgown," she pointed out tartly.

Both Dogs grinned at her as her mother spluttered in outrage and Rosalind sniffed indignantly. "You're brave and feisty, and you've got a good memory to boot," observed the man. "That is impressive, you should think about joining the Provost's Guard."

"I'm sure we're very honoured at your suggestion, Guardsman," said her mother. "But that sort of life is not –"

"Actually," interrupted Clary, "I have been thinking about it."

The mot Dog smiled at her warmly. "Well, that's wonderful to hear, honey."

Clary's mother didn't seem to think it was a wonderful idea at all. "_Really_, Clara. It's not appropriate at all, we raised you to be a fine young woman."

Clary crossed her arms. "There's no job more honourable, Mother. We'd have been dead if the Guardsman and Guardswoman hadn't arrived."

"I don't know," said the mot. "You seemed to be holding your own pretty well." She smiled at her and held out her hand. "Clara, is it? Guardswoman Helena Woodrow."

Clary nodded, deciding she could put up with the use of her full name this once, for formality. "Clara Wright," she said as she shook her hand.

"Senior Guardsman Nyler Jewel." The other Dog held his hand out too, and Clary shook it, feeling very grown up. "Let's get this Rat back to the kennels," he said.

"Thank you very much," Clary told them both sincerely.

"You saved us!" added Klee. He'd watched the whole conversation with awe, and Rosalind with jealousy.

Guardswoman Woodrow chuckled. "Your sister saved you all more than we did, thank her." She turned to Clary. "I hope you do join the Provost's Guard, we could use more young ones like you."

Clary beamed as they left, and then caught the look on her mother's face. "That was exhausting," she said hastily. "I'd best get back to bed." She gathered up her jewellery box and Tomcat and retreated to her bedroom, but it was hours before her excitement wore off enough for her to go back to sleep. She knew it for sure now: Clary Wright was going to be a Dog.


	13. Rigged

I have the next chapter all ready to post! But I'm evil and egotistical and like reviews, so I'll wait until tomorrow to post it. Unless I can be convinced to do it earlier. ;)

* * *

"And there were two Dogs, a mot and a cove, and they were both really nice to me. They both said that I did a good job and that they were impressed, _and _they both said that I should think about joining the Dogs!" Clary beamed up at Tom.

"Gods Clary, I'm glad you're all unhurt."

"I am going to join the Dogs," she told him. "I'd been thinking about it already."

He blinked. "Really?"

She gave him a warning glare. "Don't you start going on about it too. I'm starting to think that Mother would rather have had all our things stolen."

"I take it she's not too happy about it?"

The corner of Clary's mouth turned up in a half-smile. "Something like that."

"And what about your da? Is he back from Port Caynn yet?"

"Yes, thank the gods. There were three nights after the thief before Da came home, and Mother was beside herself." She scowled. "She managed to conveniently forget that I'd managed fine the first time."

Tom grinned at her. "I don't think anyone would be too keen to repeat an experience like that though."

Clary stopped and glared at him, her arms crossed. "I can and I will, and nobody's going to stop me."

"I didn't mean that I don't think you should be a Dog." He paused, clearly thinking it over. "Honestly, I think you'll be good at it," he told her.

"Really?"

"Really."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "That's what Da said too. It made Mother really mad and she told him off for encouraging me, but he said he's really proud of me about the thief." She frowned at him. "Where are you going?"

He scratched his arm and looked away. "Oh…we just have to go over to the other side of the market first."

"Why?"

Tom sighed. "Please just come?"

"But you said we could have lunch before we look around and I'm _starving _and my favourite eating house is right there. Can't it wait?"

"I'm afraid not. But there are some nice eating houses over the other side too, perhaps we could go there for once."

She scowled and muttered something that Tom couldn't quite hear, and then stalked off in the direction that he wanted to go. Tom grinned and hurried to catch up.

Clary's jaw dropped as she caught sight of a familiar but unwelcome figure standing on the corner. "This had better be chance, Tom."

He gave her a sheepish grin. "Does arranged chance count?"

"No, it doesn't," she snapped. "You mean to say that you dragged me right across the markets so that you could ruin my day and meet up with your sarden sourheart?"

"Hush, she'll hear you," he murmured. He was right; they were almost in front of Hanna now, and there was a scowl on her face to match Clary's.

"Don't tell me to _hush _–" Clary began.

"Tomlan, I've missed you so much since we last saw each other." Hanna clung onto him pathetically, and Tom blinked.

"But that was only yesterday," he said in confusion. He saw the look on her face and hastily added "But of course I missed you too."

Clary snorted, and Hanna glared at her. "Tomlan, you didn't tell me you'd be bringing Clara."

"He didn't tell me we'd be meeting _you_," retorted Clary. "As if I'd _want _to waste my time around you."

"You two just got off on the wrong footing with each other," Tom told them both. "Once you get to know each other you'll get along well."

Hanna stuck her nose in the air. "We'll never get along."

"I don't _want_ to get along with her," Clary told Tom. "I'm not going to."

"See? She's annoying."

"She's horrible."

"Can't you just get rid of her?"

"It's not like you actually _need _her. I've seen much prettier doxies around."

"How _dare _you-"

"Oh, I wasn't causing trouble," said Clary innocently. "I was just _saying_. Wasn't I, Tom?"

Tom scuffed his feet. "I suppose so…but there's no sense in arguing. How about we go and eat?"

-----

"I told you so. I told you that I hate her and she hates me. She's horrible, Tom."

"Maybe you think so, but I don't. I like her, and I was hoping you two would get along."

Clary snorted and Tom sighed.

"Did you really have to-"

"Yes." Clary crossed her arms. "She started it."

"You do realise you could have chosen to ignore anything that you found bothering about her?"

"Anything that I found bothering? Like the way she was kicking me under the table and rolling her eyes whenever I said something? And interrupting me and mimicking me? And she was all over you like a rash like she was _claiming _you or marking her territory like a dog lifting its leg." She could hear Tom starting to chuckle. "It's not funny, she was. I think you should be praising me for not throwing up and not stabbing her with my fork."

"I think what you did with the pease porridge was bad enough."

She rolled her eyes at him. "She completely overreacted. It was only a _spoonful_. And I thought my aim was very impressive."

Tom laughed. "Maybe that trick with the spoon will come in handy when you're a Dog," he teased.

"Who knows? Maybe it will."

"It might," Tom agreed. "And then you might thank me for having a sweetheart you didn't like so that you could practice on her."

Clary snorted. "I'd thank you more if you got rid of her."

Tom just smiled and shook his head at her. "I think I'd better just stick to keeping you and Hanna apart."


	14. Gloom

I've had a few questions about how far I'm taking Balancing Act in Clary's life, so I thought I'd let you all know that I'm going to take it right through to the end of Bloodhound. Well, that's the plan at the moment, anyway, I'll see if Mastiff gives me anything which inspires me to take it further. :)

------------

Tom grinned when he saw the figure sitting by the riverbank. "I thought I might find you here. Your da said he thought you'd gone out."

Clary gave a half-hearted smile as he sat down beside her. "I finally escaped."

"What do you mean?"

Clary fiddled with a blade of grass. "It's Mother. She seems to think that by making me do enough sarden boring things around the house, she can _cure _me of wanting to be a Dog."

"Did she actually say that? Maybe she just genuinely needs help?"

"She pretty much said so. And she doesn't make Rosalind do any of it, because sarden _Rosalind's _already perfect at all of it and Mother says I should know how to do stupid things like embroidery for when I give up the _nonsense _of being a Dog and I'm ready to become a proper wife like her." She crossed her arms and scowled. "I _told _her I'm not getting married and she makes me do it all anyway."

Tom lay back on the grass. "Maybe you'll find some of it helpful anyway," he suggested. "And you might get married, you never know."

"I won't find it helpful and I'm not getting married," Clary insisted.

"How do you know? What if you fall in love?"

Clary snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm going to be a Dog. Nobody's going to want to marry me and I don't care."

Tom shrugged. "You never know. There's no harm in keeping an open mind."

Clary only muttered something under her breath and plucked at the grass.

Tom watched her for several long minutes as she sat frowning in silence. "What's wrong?" he asked. "You're brooding about something other than your mother. Otherwise you'd just be angry at her, not…gloomy like this."

"I'm fine."

"Honestly? You don't seem like it."

She let out a loud huff. "It's just Rosalind, there's no need to get yourself all worked up and poking your nose in. Just mind your own sarden business," she snapped.

Tom waited quietly for a few moments before speaking. "You seem pretty upset," he pointed out. "You usually don't mind what she says at all. What's she done?"

"Nothing."

"People don't get upset over nothing. Especially not you."

Clary hesitated, then tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "Rosalind said I was annoying and ugly, and he laughed."

Tom frowned in confusion. "Who's 'he'?"

"It doesn't matter," she snapped.

"Klee?"

"No, you big looby." She sighed. "Joss Tanner."

"Oh." Tom had heard his name before; in fact, he'd heard Clary and Leena giggling about him before. Well, he'd heard Leena giggling to Clary about him…Clary wasn't the giggly type at all. But just because Clary hadn't been giggling too didn't mean she didn't fancy this Joss Tanner. Tom frowned. "Do you…you know, _like _him?" he asked cautiously.

"Pox rot you, I told you to mind your own sarden business!" Clary's face had gone bright red, which answered Tom's question for him. "I wish I'd never told you anything."

"You want to know what I think?"

"No, just keep your gob shut."

Tom rolled out of her reach and grinned at her. "I think he's not worth your time. I think he's a gormless scummernob and he doesn't even deserve one moment of your brooding over him."

Clary fiddled with the hem of her dress. "I know."

"Well then why are you so gloomy about it?"

She turned to glare at him. "Because it's not that easy to just stop."

"Poor Clary." Tom sat up and scooted over to her, and wrapped a big arm around her shoulders. She didn't shrug him off or push him away, so Tom took that as a good sign. "It's all very well finding a boy who looks handsome," he told her, "but you have to find somebody who's a nice person as well as looking handsome."

She did shove him away now. "I'm not a looby." She managed to stop herself from making a nasty comment about Hanna.

"I know, I'm just checking. I'd say the same to Leena, you know, if she was in the same situation."

Clary stayed silent, thinking. "I wish I had a big brother like you," she said finally.

Tom stared at her before grinning broadly. "I think that's about the best compliment you've ever given me." He wrapped his arm around her again. "So do I, but I think we're doing pretty well as friends too though, aren't we?"

Clary nodded. "I wish you were my brother instead of Rosalind though."

"Has she been especially bad since the betrothal was broken off?"

Clary turned to stare at him. "What?"

"Oh," he said. "Mama told me that she'd heard that Rosalind's betrothed ran off with another girl, but that must be wrong."

"It's probably true, it's just that nobody bothers telling me anything," Clary replied. "Rosalind only really causes arguments in our family…especially with me. I don't care about all the poxy details of her betrothal anyway."

"Well, I bet this betrothal mess makes you glad you're not getting married."

Clary grinned. "Definitely."


	15. Back Door

Clary swore and then immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. She waited a moment, eyes wide, certain that she would be struck down for swearing in the Goddess's temple. She was relieved to see that the other person was a girl her own age and that she was stifling laughter, and the corner of Clary's mouth turned up a little as she took her hand away.

"I'm sorry," Clary said. "I didn't see you."

"I did see you, but only too late. It's just as well I weren't some cranky old mot or a hedgewitch or rusher or sommat." She looked at the mess between the two of them. "Is that _catnip_?"

Clary blushed as she knelt down again to clean it up. "My cat – well, he was sort of mine and sort of my friend's, but he died so I brought some catnip here for him."

"Oh." The other girl helped her clear the last of it away. "I'm sorry."

"Me too. He was only five." Clary blinked hard to hold off the tears.

"Forgive me for asking, but…I could've sworn I heard you say 'Thank you' right before you stood up and crashed into me."

A priestess shushed them, and they quickly headed outside the temple.

"I'm not happy that Boots is dead, if that's what you're asking. I was thanking the Goddess for putting some sense in my friend's thick nob. He _finally _broke things off with his sweetheart."

"Do you want him for yourself?"

"No!" said Clary hurriedly. "But she was a cracknobbed midden hen. It wasn't until she didn't even care that poor Boots was dead and she was nagging Tomlan to spend time with her that he realised she was a dozy trull and broke things off."

"It sounds like you do want him for yourself."

"I don't!" Clary insisted. "Tom's old, he's _nineteen_. Anyway, I'm going to be a Dog."

"Really?"

She didn't look much like a Dog, but the other girl's face lit up, so Clary asked "Are you going to be a Dog too?"

"Gods, no. I'm a kitchen maid at Provost's House."

"Really? Have you met the Lord Provost?"

"I've seen him a few times. He don't exactly mix with the likes of us."

"But you've still _seen _him, and you've been in his house!"

The other girl giggled at Clary's enthusiasm. "I can show you some parts of Provost's House, if you want to. It's my day off," she explained, "and I'm not really supposed to take people inside, but you don't look like an assassin or anything."

"I'm not," Clary reassured her.

"You did a good job of attacking me with that catnip," said the other girl, and laughed.

Clary couldn't help but giggle too. "That was the first and last time, I promise," she said. "My name's Clary."

The other girl linked her arm through Clary's and they started walking towards the Palace Way. "I'm Mya."


	16. Dancing

"I don't think we've met, my name's Tomlan."

Clary turned to look at him, her eyebrow raising when he still showed no sign of recognition. "It's me, you looby."

Tom stared at her. "Oh," he said finally. "Sorry, you look different."

Clary crossed her arms. "I should think so, it took _forever_ to get ready."

"You look nice," Tom added hurriedly. "Not that you don't look nice usually, it's just that now you look nice in a different kind of way. Or different in a nice kind of way, if that makes sense."

The corner of Clary's mouth curled upwards. "Thank you." She smoothed her dark green skirt, enjoying the feeling of the soft, pretty cloth under her fingers. "Mya showed me how to put face paints on last week, and Mama helped me put my hair up."

"You didn't have to sneak out, then?"

"No, she let me come. Da gave in and helped convince her that I was close enough to sixteen to be allowed to come, so I didn't even need to pretend to cry. But I heard her saying to Da that she only let me come because I'd be difficult to find a husband for, and that they should start looking early." She sniffed in disdain. "It was like they were talking about fattening up a calf to sell at the meat market."

Tom hid a smile. "But you came anyway."

"Of course. I wanted to look pretty and go dancing."

Tom glanced over her shoulder. "There's a boy eyeing you up already."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Clary's mouth. "Really?"

"I wouldn't make something like that up. Save a dance for me later?"

"Alright." Clary grabbed onto Tom's arm as he turned to go. "Tom…what do I _do_? With him?"

Tom blinked at her. "You mean dancing? It's just like we practiced, you'll be fine."He started to look worried. "I don't have to explain about canoodling and those things, do I?"

Clary's face was bright red. "No, you looby, I mean before the dancing."

"Well, I'll go, and then all you have to do is look at him and smile or sommat. And then if he's not cracknobbed he'll come over and ask you to dance. Unless you want me to just tell him that you want to dance with him?"

"No!" Clary saw his grin and realised he was teasing. "Go away. And um, thanks."

….

Clary was getting fed up. It wasn't that the dance itself was horrible –she liked feeling pretty, she liked seeing people she knew and being admired, and she liked feeling grown up. The Carpentry Guild's annual dance was exactly like she'd always hoped it would be, and she was enjoying being able to pause every so often and stare in amazement around the big hall with the decorations and the minstrels and the people talking and dancing. She especially liked the dancing, and the way she felt all nice inside whenever another boy asked her to dance with him. It was just the disappointment once she started dancing with them that she didn't like. Some of them couldn't help being boring or bad dancers or painfully awkward, of course, and she tried to be as nice and polite to them as she could. It was the other boys that had her patience disappearing quickly, the ones that put their hands where she didn't want them and looked down the front of her dress, and especially the ones that wanted her to drink more wine and 'go for a walk' outside with them.

"Would you like to dance?"

Clary turned around and saw another boy behind her. He didn't _look_ like he was going to be horrible, and she couldn't help but notice that he was handsome and had a nice smile. _Perhaps he'll be a better dance partner_, she thought, and she stepped forward and smiled at him.

…

Tomlan was having a drink with Master Wright when he glanced across the dance floor and saw Clary dancing. He frowned as the boy she was with pulled her closer and slid his hand around her back and down much lower than what was polite. Clary scowled too and pushed the boy further away again, settling his hand on her waist where it was supposed to be.

Her father chuckled quietly. "That's my girl."

Tom grinned at him. "She looks after herself well." He looked around to make sure Mistress Wright was nowhere in sight, and said quietly, "I think she'll make a good Dog."

Clary's father smiled and nodded in agreement.

"I said to keep your hands _off _me!" That voice and the irritation in it was far too familiar, and Tom and Master Wright hurriedly looked back towards Clary just in time to see her bring her knee up between her dance partner's legs. The boy doubled over in pain, and Clary turned on her heel and stormed out.

"That gixie's a disgrace. People are staring." Clary's mother had come up behind them. "I don't know what's wrong with her, Rosalind's never caused trouble like this. She's been making a wonderful impression on Mistress Gilpin and her son all evening."

"Our Clary's a good gixie. You can't compare them, love." He lowered his voice. "This lad got what he deserved, and you've said yourself that Gilpin lad would have trouble saying boo to a goose if his mother didn't push him into it."

Tom's eyebrows rose. He'd heard more or less the same thing from Clary about the boy her mother wanted Rosalind to marry, although he'd thought at the time that 'he's got less personality than the pattens he makes' was an exaggeration.

"She's too young, we shouldn't have let her come. Alfie, would you walk her to your sister's? She can stay with Berkeley and we'll get them both in the morning."

Tom winced. Clary would be furious for _weeks _if she was sent home early from the dance, no matter whether or not she'd stormed out first. "Let me go after her instead," he suggested, and headed for the door before her mother could object.

…..

Tom tapped cautiously on the privy door. "Clary?"

She sighed. "I'm up here."

Tom turned and caught sight of a flash of dark green through the banisters, and climbed up the stairs to sit beside her. "Your da and I were both impressed," he told her.

"And Mother?"

"Not so much. But you did the right thing." Clary snorted. "I'm serious, I saw what he was doing. It was obvious you didn't like it, and if you let him keep doing it anyway I'd have had to come over and deal with him myself. Nobody's going to treat you like that and get away with it."

Clary smiled, warmed by the thought of Tom looking out for her just like he would Leena, and rested her head against his shoulder. "I hate boys."

"Do I count?"

"No."

Tom smiled. "You know, you said you'd save a dance for me."

"I'm not in the mood for dancing anymore."

"But you _promised_. Close enough to it anyway."

"And then I stormed out in a huff. I can't go back in now."

"How about we sit out here for a while longer so you can pretend you've sulked, and then we'll go in and have a dance?"

Clary had to purse her lips in an effort to stop herself from smiling; it seemed that Tomlan knew her far too well. "I suppose so," she relented, and a small smile escaped.

….

Dancing with Tom was different to dancing with the other boys. She felt relaxed, being able to talk easily with him instead of having to make polite conversation. He kept his hands exactly where they were supposed to be, and Clary felt a rush of gratefulness and affection for him. She couldn't help but wish that all of the other boys were more like Tomlan, or that she'd started dancing with him sooner.

"I like dancing with you," she told him without thinking. She'd danced with boys that evening who were better dancers than Tom, but with all the hours she'd spent practicing with him and Leena in their kitchen she was comfortable and didn't even mind if he stepped on her foot every so often.

"I like dancing with you too," he replied, smiling. The music ended, but neither of them moved away. "Will you stay for another dance?"

Clary nodded, and then blushed when the music started up again, much slower this time. She paused, certain that Tom would decide he'd rather have a slow dance with a pretty gixie his own age. Tom didn't seem to think anything of it though; he stood a little closer to her and held her close as they started to dance again. Clary sneakily glanced around the room and noticed that a lot of the other gixies were resting their heads contentedly against their cove's shoulder or chest. She couldn't help but think that Tom's chest looked comfortable and inviting, but she wouldn't rest her head against him – that was what sweethearts did, after all. A thought crept into her head of her and Tom as sweethearts and she felt her face flush, thankful that the room was dark enough to hide it. The more that Clary tried to think of something else, the more the thought stuck in her head, and she was even more surprised to realise that she didn't dislike it. And she was certain it was just the dancing, but all of a sudden she felt all hot and flustered.

The dance changed into another fast one, the last one of the evening, and Tom grinned down at Clary and spun her around. She had just enough time to admire the sparkle in his bright blue eyes before she remembered that she needed to concentrate on her feet and avoiding the other dancers.

The dance ended and she held on to him for a moment, laughing and gasping for air at the same time. "That was fun," she said, unable to keep the wide smile off her face. "All of it. I didn't even have to put up with Mother trying to marry me off."

Tom grinned back at her. "You'll be back next year, then?"

"Of course. I couldn't miss it now that I know what it's like. I wish I didn't have to wait a whole 'nother year."

Tom chuckled. "It'll come soon enough. Besides, you've got more to look forward to afore then, like starting your Dog training."

Clary frowned. "I'll still be able to come to this next year if I'm training to be a Dog, won't I?"

"Of course, Clary. Your da's in the Carpenter's Guild, and I'd bring you with me if your mother said no."

Clary smiled slightly, relieved, and was caught by surprise when Tom bent to quickly kiss her cheek. "I'd best let you find your parents and go home," he told her. "Goodnight, Clary."

Clary stared after him as he walked away and couldn't help but think that she wouldn't hate boys anywhere near so much (or even at all) if Tom counted as one of them. She was glad when her parents found her before she needed to move; she was finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than the odd fluttery feeling in her stomach and the tingly feeling on her cheek where Tom's lips had been.`

….

Thanks to ubiquitous_girl for reading this over for me and coming up with the chapter name! You don't want to know what monstrosity I'd called it before. :P

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	17. Tempting Fate

Set the day after dance in the previous chapter.

….

Clary carefully counted her money one more time; she had to make sure that every last coin was safely in her purse so there weren't any surprises when she got to the bank.

She ran through what her da had told her again, so she was sure of what would happen: she'd walk in, look for the offices, explain to the teller that she wanted to open an account, sign the paper, and make sure that she got a receipt.

Clary frowned as she realised she had a problem, and she threw open the door to her bedroom. "Da!"

"What?" came his voice from the kitchen below.

Clary suddenly felt silly, but not telling him wouldn't solve her problem either. "I don't have a signature."

He came to stand in the doorway and she was sure she saw his mouth twitch a little, but his voice was even when he replied, "Just write your name, sweetpea."

"But it won't look all fancy like other people's signatures do."

Her da was definitely looking amused now. "Clary, half the people that go into that bank every day sign their name with a big cross because they don't know how to write. Writing your name will do just fine. Now, we're off in ten minutes, so you make sure you're ready."

Clary shut her bedroom door and wrinkled her nose in annoyance. She wanted a proper signature like her da had; she didn't want to write her name like an inexperienced child. She sat herself down at her desk and found her pencil and an old piece of parchment.

_Clara Wright_, she practiced.

_Clary Wright._

_C Wright._

_Clara Wright. _She liked this one best, so far. It was messy, but it was quicker and made it look like she was used to signing things.

_Clara Wright._

_Clara Wright._

_Clara Wright._

A thought popped into Clary's head, and she couldn't help but try it out.

_Trainee Guardswoman Clara Wright._ She looked at the words and grinned to herself – it'd be just a few months before it was true! She'd write it lots when it really was true, just because she could.

_Guardswoman Clara Wright._

_Corporal Guardswoman Clara Wright._

_Sergeant Clara Wright._

_Sergeant Clara Goodwin. _Clary stared at the words and felt her face flushing red. She hastily turned around just to check there was nobody standing behind her, and then looked back to the words again. She couldn't even explain to herself why she'd decided to write it, but she was sure she must just be overtired from all the dancing the night before. All the same, her finger was slowly tracing over the unfamiliar combination of names, and her stomach was feeling all fluttery just like when Tom had kissed her cheek to say goodbye last night.

"Clary!"

She jumped at the sound of her da calling up the stairs, and blushed again as she realised what she'd been doing. She tore the parchment up as quickly as she could, into tiny little pieces so that nobody could piece together more than a few letters, let alone two incriminating, fanciful words. She tucked her purse under her arm and tossed her shawl over her shoulder, and barreled down the stairs, past her father, and straight into the kitchen to toss the handful of torn parchment onto the fire.

Her da eyed her with amusement. "You were practicing your signature, weren't you?"

Clary was sure she was blushing again, but she stuck her nose in the air. "My signature's just fine as it is," she said. "Half the people who go into the bank sign their name with a cross because they don't know how to write. Really, Da, why would you go putting an idea like that in your daughter's head? Anyone'd think you were trying to make me proud and arrogant." She sniffed in disdain. "And I thought we had to leave."

Alfie laughed and kissed her forehead. "I'd be worried you were sick or sommat if you weren't getting up to tricks."

Clary just smiled and set off out the door.


End file.
